The Unforeseen Variable
by FractiousDay
Summary: As the Wizarding World crumbles around him, Harry Potter, unable to die a natural death, casts himself into Oblivion. Intercepted by a powerful magical artifact he journeys across the frozen land he has found himself in. But as he builds a new life in Mundus the Thalmor, Daedric Princes, and Empire all take notice of the Master of Death.
1. The Last Spell of Harry Potter

_AN: I had the idea for this in my head one day whilst trying to write the next chapter of Liberation, and really needed to write it down before I could think about Middle Earth anymore. I always thought there was a dearth of 'grown up' Harry stories, almost all start in First Year, so I wondered how to write a story where he's gone through life. _

_Also Id been playing a lot of Skyrim recently, and it sort of got in my head._

* * *

Sunset broke over the castle grounds as the Headmaster of Hogwarts reclined in his chair. He was old, so old that he no longer remembered the faces of his friends. They were but flashes of colour, gone in a twinkling. He sat back, stroking his silver beard; he could feel through his robes the inlaid wood of the chair. That chair was even older than him, reinforced and repaired with countless charms and spells to allow it to actually stand, let alone bear any weight.

He heard a chime from across the room. A small bell sounded to let him know someone was coming up the stairs. He lifted his wand and cast a Transparency Spell on the door. An old trick, just smoke and mirrors he had learnt from the Old Man.

"Come in Ms. Perkins." He called softly.

The door opened, a young witch, young by his standards, around forty came in.

"Headmaster." She nodded.

"What is it?" he asked back.

"The last of them are gone."

Ah. That was good, earlier than he had expected. Hogwarts was not the castle it once was, now a veritable ruin in the wake of the three wars it had gone through since he was a first year.

"You go yourself." He said, "I will, as one might say, 'turn out the lights'"

Ms. Perkins sniffed, and he conjured a handkerchief, levitating it over to her. She sniffed again, dabbing her eyes.

As the Headmaster stood up he felt a flutter in his chest. Conjuring another handkerchief for himself he coughed into it for several seconds. Gasping he dropped back into his chest.

"Headmaster-" Ms. Perkins called and stepped forward, then stopped herself, she did not want to offend the Legend of the Wizarding World by helping him stand. She watched the Headmaster dap at a spot of blood at the corner of his mouth. "You are not well." She said finally, "Let me call them back, please!"

"'Not well' indeed." Scoffed the Headmaster. "I am _dying_ Ms. Perkins, and have been for a long time, my body is worn out."

"But the Hallows." Ms. Perkins insisted.

Yes, the Hallows.

That had all come out after he had been elected for his fifth term as Minister for Magic, some enterprising young reporter, no doubt the spawn of Rita Skeeter knowing his luck, had noticed the similarity in his and Dumbledore's wands. Not just similar, but identical. Then they had noted the ring with a cracked stone on his finger, and after a little digging, uncovered the stories of his youthful trespassing using the Invisibility Cloak.

"The Hallows prevent death certainly, but that simply means that I will grow increasingly old and decrepit." He told the young woman, "I am simply in an extremely advanced state of old age, and will continue to be so, do not concern yourself in the troubles of an old man."

"Yes Sir, and…thank you, for everything."

"You are most welcome." He replied, smiling, "Now leave me, I have one last spell to perform." He told her as she walked out shutting the griffin handled door behind her. "The last spell of Harry James Potter."

Throughout his fourteen decades of life he had fought. From his school years against Voldemort, to his twilight years against the demons of entrenched bureaucracy, the two wars after he had 'vanquished' his first Dark Lord, to the day to day difficulties of running the remnants of a nation. But soon that would be over, for years he had researched the spell, and now, at last, he was ready.

After Voldemort, there came a period of rebuilding, for several years Harry had played the Auror, fighting against the darkness as a 'magical bobby' as several of the papers referred to him. Even with the death of Voldemort, many Death Eaters had escaped, in fact only around half of the inner circle had been captured or killed. Three years to mop them up, but in those three years he had found out more about life than he had at any other.

The rebuilding was one of those times when the world needed heroes, and Harry Potter, the Man Who Conquered, was happy to oblige. He had been wined and dined by the finest of people; the most 'pure' of blood that the Wizarding World had to offer, and subsequently for this reason found that he did not enjoy alcohol.

There had been a rather awkward period when the various eligible young witches from around the country attempted to ensnare him in various ways, but with each he had declined. After all, what would Ginny say? Well, probably not a great deal, three weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts she was murdered by Augustus Rookwood, the man cut out her heart and sent it to Harry by Owl Post. Harry cut out the Death Eater's in return.

Eventually he had made Head Auror, and later, surfing on his success in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement he had run for Minister for Magic. Of course he won a landslide victory as the only candidate, the others having backed out after they heard he was standing in the election. Two terms there, eliminating the prejudices in the Wizengamot and cutting back on the various discriminatory and archaic laws after he was elected Chief Warlock.

However, soon the second of the three wars he had fought in began. The _casus belli _was the lamentable death of a Muggleborn family at the hands of some young Pureblood heir. Scorpius Malfoy got off on some technicality but was later torn apart by a mob in Diagon Alley, igniting a series of similar massacres of other Muggleborns in retaliation. The Weasley's had been attacked, no-one was hurt but Harry was forced by his position to stand with the Purebloods. That was the beginning of the Muggleborn Rebellion, an unholy marriage of experimental science and older magics had given the more numerous Muggleborns an advantage over the inbred, but richer and more influential Purebloods.

Those were sad times for Harry, on one hand you had the Purebloods howling at you for 'decisive action'. On the other Hermione sobbed and begged for him to pardon the prisoners he had to deal with, telling him to give them a chance to change, to forgive them, that was what Dumbledore would have wanted, oh yes, follow in the Old Man's footsteps and everything will be fine.

Sufficed to say, it hadn't. Dumbledore's strategy of unlimited second chances didn't pay off, actually making the Muggleborns fight harder, laughing at him. That had lasted for another month before Harry acquired a new title.

_Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_

Never tickle a sleeping dragon.

Harry had left his office late one night. Later he had come back, the Daily Prophet had reported the aftermath; Harry Potter: 3,224 Muggleborn Faction: 0

Hermionie had cut of all contact with him after that, soon whispers emerged that he would lead his own muggle genocide. 'The Dragon' resigned his post after the peace had settled, and retired to the newly built Potter Manor in south Wales, just outside of Godic's Hollow. There he had devoted himself to the study of Magic. He had always been a powerful Wizard, only realising in those years in exile how incredible it was for a child of thirteen to produce a corporeal Patronus.

That was one of the things that interested him.

The Muggleborns used logic to explain magic; they measured it and poked at it. Their attitude disgusted him. Since his first sight of Hogwarts, that incredible starlit view as he rose from a crouch under the rock wall onto the Black Lake, he had though magic to be, well, magical. Magic was what had liberated him from the Durselys, and magic was, through the Hallows, what had for a brief time reunited him with his parents.

Instead of Logic Harry used Emotion to power his spells, his Charms became filled with joyful enthusiasm, his Transfigurations driven by Will, his newly learnt Dark Arts spells fuelled by his growing desire for power.

Finally, after intensive study and musing on the nature of the Patronus Charm he cast it again. But this time it was not a stag that erupted from his wand. This time it was a dragon. He had become his namesake.

That had filled Harry with a terrible sense of loss. He felt he was losing his humanity; becoming as cold as the blood in the lizard his Patronus was now. He had cut himself off from most human contact, become a recluse. Luckily though he still used a bathroom, rather than milk bottles stacked along his skirting board in the manner of Howard Hughes.

So, the year 2039 was marked as the one in which Harry Potter emerged once again into the public eye. He became an exemplar of the community, wandering about helping people. He always had a 'saving people' thing, and it came out then.

People started to talk about the jovial Mr Potter and how he saved them all. He became a folk legend, popping in and out of Diagon Alley and Hogsmede on occasion. He ran a small book shop on the old site of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, the living half of the twins having sadly vacated it now.

Of his old friends the only ones he kept in touch with were his godson's growing family and Luna Lovegood. Teddy Lupin was the first one to suggest the idea of a book shop, and Luna came to help in the running of things. Most people now acknowledged her as quite mad at that time, but she and Harry built up an understanding of sorts, and through her, he had acquired a new, well, perhaps not a sister, but a close female friend of indeterminate relation.

This arrangement went on happily for many years.

The Wizarding World in Britain had finally begun expanding for the first time in centuries. One sociologist wrote a most flattering article in the Prophet describing in detail how dark wizards and creatures were being deterred from starting anything solely because of Harry's public presence.

'Never tickle a sleeping dragon' became popular vernacular amongst the populace when referring to anything to be careful of, Luna however, took great relish in bursting into Harry's bedroom at attempting to do just that. Sometimes several times a night.

Eventually though time caught up with them, and one by one, his new friends died or moved away. He personally buried Luna after a potions accident. That was a very sad day. He summoned her shade afterwards and made a tearful goodbye. Luna finally confessing that she had loved him for years but had never been able to tell him.

Harry mournfully retreated back to the manor, immersing himself once again in his books and the pursuit of knowledge. He worked on the more exotic and esoteric branches of magic, on the magics of the Soul and of Nature. He even contacted several religious groups for research purposes and struck up a friendship with a druid in a nearby forest.

After he had explored these paths as far as he could without actually dying he didn't know what to do with himself.

So Harry Potter went traveling. All post was redirected to a pocket dimension he had created and he took a world tour, of both the muggle and magical communities around the globe. He broke curses in Egypt with the sons of Bill Weasley, he trained in every martial art he could find, he won the Tour De France one year on a Penny Farthing.

However on his travels he also found his own share of wars. The Middle East was aflame, literally in the case of the oil fields of the Arabian Alliance, China had absorbed several smaller nations around that area and a South American Front was forming. Some political critics said that the Second Cold War had begun. As he travelled he helped those he could, but went ever onwards, around the world till he once again found himself in England.

In almost record time, no sooner had he stepped through the door an envelope flew in the letterbox. It was a summons to the Prime Minister. Harry answered and asked to once again assume the mantle of Minister of Magic, apparently the country needed a stabilising influence, 'even among the magicals'. So Harry served as Minister for another three terms.

It was during this time that the Necromancer emerged. Reports of graveyards being raided, of ghosts and other spirits ranging about the countryside flooded in. The Dementors of Azkaban vanished, no one know where to, just that they were gone without a trace. However, soon the attacks began in earnest. Harry felt the first souls depart the first casualties of the war. The Necromancer swiftly became Harry Potter's second nemesis. His second Dark Lord to put down, and in 2067 the Minister for Magic led the charge into his fortress, a magical construct built on a dark cloud that moved at the will of its master. The Necromancer was defeated, Harry prevailed, and there was much celebration.

Then the bombs dropped.

Nuclear war had broken out on the continent, and soon spread to Britain, millions died in the UK alone, Harry felt every soul through his connection to the Hallows. Some argued that the Resource Wars were over religion, some argued over oil and other materials, some said it was God's Wrath incarnate.

Harry thought that if there was a God he would not use nuclear fire and the _click-click_ of Geiger counters to teach his worshipers.

The Magicals survived better than most though, their sheltered communities and houses protecting them from the widespread radiation, but Magic itself was scarred, Apparition became a thing of the past, as did most external magic. Harry was one of the few Wizards left who could perform spells. The rest concentrated their powers inward, enhancing their physiology for the most part, preventing the Green Death from entering their bodies.

The world turned, and humanity survived, not changed, not the same, but it survived. The Wizards retreated further into their communes and Harry retired from office again, this time turning his considerable talents to teaching. He became Headmaster in short order, and spent three decades leading the shattered remnants of Britain. Not just the Wizards, but muggles and magical creatures as well. They all respected him for some reason or other, but the title 'Headmaster' lost its original meaning, now 'Headmaster' meant Harry Potter.

Hogwarts was one of the few places untouched by the holocaust, its centuries-old wards and protective enchantments keeping the blasts and nuclear winter out. Years later it was discovered that there were significantly fewer children being born, the radiation and subsequent magical meddling with their bodies had rendered most of the Wizarding population infertile. Harry himself was fine, but had fathered no children regardless. Both the two women who might have been the mothers to his offspring were long dead.

The Wizards were slowly dying out, if the other nations had not taken similar measures they would have been mutated beyond recognition by the radiation anyway, so Harry felt rather depressed about it all. He had experimented with the Elder Wand to try and fix, or at least slow down the degradation, but to no avail, virtually every non-human species of magical creature had become extinct, and there were now a scant two hundred in a castle that once held thousands. Ms. Perkins would do her job, and Harry would do his. The world had moved on, and he could not now move with it. It was too different; he was, as Heinlein had written, a 'stranger in a strange land'.

So Harry stood at his desk, his aged bones cracking and popping as his legs straightened. He took one last look at the sun, and then around him, threw the Cloak around his shoulders, grasped the Wand, and turned the Ring, then he incanted the words of a spell in an ancient language he had discovered. The room shook, the windows exploded outwards, Hogwarts crumbled around him as its magic was torn away, the foundations cracked and groaned and the stones warped and flexed.

The Hallows glowed brilliantly together, and Harry chanted the last words that would throw his soul out into the Cosmos.

"Avada Kedavra."


	2. The Eye of Magnus

The landing was surprisingly smooth.

The spell Harry found was designed to cast his soul through a place called 'Oblivion', Harry had assumed that this was the spellmaker being poetic, however, on his experiences when arriving in said place it was in fact a real location. The previous Headmaster looked around him. In a word, it was blue. Well, blue and green, there were circular plates of glass orbiting around him forming a sphere. He looked around, or rather, directed his consciousness around the place, as he was at the moment a disembodied strand of magic. He mused idly that this was what Voldemort must have felt like before his resurrection.

Harry realised with some unease that he was incredibly vulnerable as a spirit, even contained within the glass sphere. He examined it more closely, around the blue plates a black fitting swirled around, like a molten metal but contained in a certain place. The whole thing was in constant motion. Harry decided to try and look outside; he couldn't at the moment cast a Transparency Spell, given his lack of hands, but perhaps he could affect the transfiguration without the actual spell. He extended a hand, or rather, his perception of a hand, really a tendril of energy, as it touched the glass the plates blazed with light. Tiny letters lit up and swirled around as well. Harry couldn't read them, having only briefly studied Ancient Runes, and these were none he recognised.

Suddenly Harry could feel an energy build up. Like the coming of a storm he felt the air grow heavy, the letters on the glass blazed again with light and the sphere exploded, the glass plates shooting out so that they hovered around some invisible axis. Harry slipped downwards onto the floor. The plates shot back inwards, one circular panel narrowly missing his 'head'. The sphere reformed and the runes disappeared, the only thing coming from the ball now was a low hum.

Harry crawled out from under the ball and looked around him. He was in a cavern. He drifted over to one of the walls, examining a series of intricate carvings. They showed what seemed to be a narrative. He was somewhere in the middle. He drifted back toward the other side of the chamber, which seemed to be the start of the carvings.

First there were images of a peaceful society; the carvers had lived in a large city with many tall buildings and so on. Each of the natives were depicted with slight indentation on the side of their heads. A few metres of this and then there was an invasion. Many boats came over the sea and landed, disgorging hordes of what appeared to be armed bears. However, they actually were men dressed in furs who came from the north. Harry could tell this by the lack of indentation on the head, presumably the natives were elves of some sort. These two races lived in happiness for many years, some images of them trading. However, then there was a carving of the orb at the centre of the chamber, this was apparently valuable, and the natives attacked the men from across the sea to get it. This led to a war, and only three of the men escaped. They apparently went back north across the sea and brought another army which conducted a genocidal campaign against the natives. One tall bearded fellow was prominent, swinging a large axe around, decapitating elves every which way. After that the men spread across the world, building things and fighting with lizard people and tigers.

It was vaguely interesting Harry mused as he floated about the chamber; however it brought him no closer to finding out where he actually was.

At the moment he was literally a shade, he couldn't cast magic, but was only able to interact with already magical things, like the orb. If there was a person around he might have been able to possess them, but probably wouldn't have because of his vague ethical boundaries. So, first things first, he had to get a body.

Voldemort had done it through a ritual and a large cauldron; however, as he had neither enemies, servants, nor the bones of his father lying about, this was impossible. Perhaps he could bring his old body through the portal inside the orb.

So for three years Harry Potter, disembodied spirit extraordinaire, worked on deciphering the orb. The actual learning of the language of the runes around him did not take particularly long; he found that the settlers had transcribed much of it in another chamber just outside the one he had materialised in. By his count he could move three thousand four hundred and twelve metres from the orb, after that he began to lose cohesion, and eventually rematerialized in the cavern. This distance was quite enough to explore the underground city he was currently inhabiting, as well as finding that he was somewhere very far north, if he reached the surface he came to a snowy, mountainous landscape. He also thought he saw a town of some sort northeast of the city.

He also learnt the names of the different things he had encountered so far. The city was 'Saarthal', the natives were 'Snow Elves' and the man with the axe was called 'Ysgramor' and apparently had Five Hundred Companions. The Orb had no name, or at least, the settlers had not known what it was, and they called it the Eye of Magnus, after a god in their pantheon. The city was one of the first ones established by the northern men in the continent of Tamriel, then after the Snow Elves discovered the location of the Eye they invaded the area, killing all the Nords but Ysgramor and his two sons, they returned later and killed the Snow Elves.

It was a fairly simple arrangement, at dawn Harry would rise and explore, reading the carvings and engravings around the chamber and learning the history of the place. That only took a few months, then he examined the various magical artefacts he had located in the ruin. Most were jewellery, rings and an amulet for the most part, but in the 'Materialisation Room' he had located a magical staff and an axe near the mummified corpse of a solider or king sitting on a throne. In his spirit form he was both more receptive and more vulnerable to magic, on the mummified corpse, as well as in sarcophagi scattered around the city there were very unusual spells. Given that he could only sense, not investigate, he didn't know what they were. Then later in the day he went into a state of hibernation, this would help him reform himself and keep his spirit form from dissipating.

After he had fully explored the city, even finding a way to phase himself through the walls and collapsed areas, he found himself in a crescent shaped wall. On it there was a different language, separate from the carvings in Nordic and Old Atmoran. These were scratches, three at a time and other dots or lines. Harry could make nothing of it; perhaps it was something from an older civilisation?

The 'word wall' being the last vaguely exciting thing to find, Harry grew extraordinarily bored, contained to his three kilometres, he finally went back to the Eye. It had not moved or changed from when he left it, and was just sort of spinning, slowly, and humming. He had tried to read the runes, but as he had no reference or pictures to associate with the words he soon grew tired of it. After some time he had decided to just leave it there. Even trying to read it was a tiresome business. Because the Eye was constantly spinning he had to find a way of perpetually propelling himself in a geosynchronous orbit with the piece of text he was reading. Another potential issue was not knowing where the text started or finished, or indeed, where it went from the various branching sections of it.

But Harry persevered; it seemed he didn't have to know how it worked to use the Eye. Like any technology, if only the designers and builders knew how to operate the device no one would get anywhere.

He reached out to the sphere, the letters shone again and it opened. Inside was a swirling bluish mist, he drifted in. The Eye seemed to serve as a conduit. It allowed one to use the latent energy of the world to manipulate matter. The closest analogue to it that Harry could think of would be a muggle invention during the Rescore Wars called a 'Nanoforge'. These devices used immense amounts of energy, but once combined with a virtual interface one could bond atoms and molecules to create whatever one wanted. So, potentially, one could turn lead into gold by the simple rearranging of the electrons making the two elements up.

Harry had not studied atomic chemistry in detail, only every achieving doctorate-level degrees in most subjects, and therefore only had a rudimentary (by early 22nd century scientific standards) understanding of the theory behind the device, but he assumed that the principles were the same, instead of running on electrical power it ran on an as yet undefined magical power.

Armed with this knowledge Harry began to assemble a body for himself. Of course, he could not know every single detail of the secrets of how a human body was pieced together, but his cells did. He theorised that since an egg in the uterus can grow from a single cell, so could he grow a body. There was a problem with this though; he did not have a single cell to start with. This was obviously a problem, but he decided to use the mummified corpse on the throne across from him. From his experiences with Quirrel and the Necromancer he knew that a soul inhabiting a body would, over time, physically change the body to suit it. That was why Voldemort looked like a snake, that was basically the 'shape' of his soul. Therefore, he wasn't too worried if the body he ended up with looked nothing like him, it would eventually.

Using the tactile interface he had created within the Eye he reached out and struck of a small piece of the skin of the dead Nord, and, opening the sphere he brought it inside. Over the next year he fed the cell with energy that the Eye had collected. The cell multiplied and started to form a body, this took another few months to grow to full size. At this point the vessel before him was tall, brown haired and blue eyed, he had a thin build, and some genetic peculiarities that Harry considered correcting. Over another year he worked from inside the body, checking every muscle and bone for weaknesses, and if he found them, correcting them.

After a while it was time for a test run.

The Eye opened, the panels retracting, and Harry in his new form stepped out. His balance was off, his limbs the wrong size, and his eyes spaced marginally closer together than he was used to, but he made do. After a few faltering steps he made it from one side of the chamber to the other. He even tried a few swings with the axe lying by the throne.

Then he tried to cast a spell.

It was a simple diagnostic charm, the usual for most Healers around the world, but in his hands it…fizzled. It was most embarrassing, the great Harry Potter, failing at a simple spell. The problem was that his internal magic, (agreed by most experts to be centred somewhere around the solar plexus) didn't want to work outside his body. After a few more trials he figured it out.

'Magic' was defined by most as the advanced manipulation on energy. Wizards used wands to channel energy from inside themselves into spells. Magic in Tamriel seemed to be around in the air, just sort of floating about. This presented a problem, though with practice he might be able to focus his magic through his hand, or make a wand or something, without extensive study of the physics of this new world he wouldn't be able to cast a spell more than a few feet. This range of his spells would be directly related to how hard they hit when they arrived. He tried it out, an Incendio (wandlessly and silently of course) would travel forty feet across the chamber, but when it reached the other side it was barely a candle in power. However, if he charged it through his hand and touched something the object would melt within seconds. Similarly, he could cast a Banisher spell, but the thing he was casting at would only wobble. But if he routed it through his legs, he could jump like an Olympian.

So, Harry could affect things within his own body, and by touching them, but had almost no ranged capacity. Though this may have been a problem for a lesser wizard, Harry wasn't worried. The carvings on the walls clearly showed the elves using spells against Ysgramor, so he would simply substitute his ranged capacity with the native magics.

He wondered if he anchored an enchantment or a ward to an object if it would fizzle out, that bared further thought.

Harry went back into the Eye, bringing the body with him. If he had no ranged capacity he would have to improve his physical and close combat capabilities. To this end he began modifying his host. First he compacted the brain and replicated it to fill the excess space, he rerouted neurons and pathways and he made the processing speed faster, allowing for quicker reactions.

Next the spine and other bones, the frame of the body: These were hardened, making him denser and almost unbreakable. However, he made sure not to make these completely unbreakable, otherwise shocks and other hits would have nothing to be absorbed by.

His muscles were made stronger and thicker, and to compensate he made his other senses sharper to make sure he didn't crush something accidently. His skin became thicker to the consistency of leather. He also enhanced his immune system and accelerated his metabolism. This would make him almost immune to disease and infections, as well as many poisons. To be fair, since the Basilisk incident he was immune to poisons anyway, but it was always good to be sure. The drawback was that he would no longer be able to get drunk or be affected by any other substances, but they were over rated from what he had seen on his trip around the world. An accelerated metabolism meant he would have to eat more, but that wasn't really a problem, his magic could 'power' him at a pinch. He froze the body at that age, his hair would still grow and his cells divide but he used the power of the Hallows to halt the ageing process on himself. The ageing process had only continued on his previous body because that body was not designed to not age, this one would be.

Then he made a few cosmetic changes, he generally made the body more attractive, he widened the shoulders, narrowed the waist and straightened the nose. Then he accessed the body's genetic structure and tinkered about with it, promoting the growth of darker hair, shedding the current mane and letting a new growth of his own black hair sprout. He would also probably never age past what he set the body as now, meaning he would stay in his late 20s forever, his magic sustaining him indefinitely, allowing him the speed and energy of youth but the strength of muscles built up over long years. Then, finally, he made the eyes green. That was one part of him he wanted to keep. A memento as it were of his past life.

Harry left the sphere again and walked to the throne. He was very cold. Absently he remembered than he had no clothes. That would have to be remedied. He called the Hallows to him. They materialised in mid-air, one of their most useful functions. He had tried to throw them away several times but each time they were sitting on his desk, nearly arranged in the sign of the Hallows, the vertical Wand, in the circle and triangle of the Stone and Cloak. Eventually he had abandoned his own phoenix feather wand later in life, it was starting to fail, and the Elder Wand never stopped working.

Now came the unpleasant part.

After the revelation that he was the Master of Death came to the public there came several demands from the Wizengamot and International Committee for him to set them down, given the stupidity of this suggestion he only pretended to do so. It was really quite devious of them to have gone behind his back and pass the 'Hallows Act', a law saying no one was allowed to hold all three of the Hallows at once. So instead of snapping the wand (though he had tried) or throwing it away, he incorporated it into his arm. His only defence to a very aged Madam Pomfrey was that he slipped and cut his arm open. It seemed a good idea at the time. Regardless, he had made a focus of his own arm, all marvelled at his wondrous skill in wandless magic. Though he was indeed skilled in the discipline, it was really the wand lodged between his Radius and Ulna.

So Harry picked up a vicious and quite rusty knife from a table, and slit his arm vertically along the inner part. The skin parted quickly, giving him great pain that he ignored with help from his considerable mental skills. Luckily he had made the body large enough to incorporate a wand, and he pushed it inside the flesh. His new regenerative factor healed him quickly and the wound closed, leaving a slight tingling sensation. In a few months the wand would be broken down by the body's natural processes and the composite parts would be spread around him, turning his entire body into a magical focus. He slipped the Ring onto his finger and swept the Cloak around him in a suitably dramatic manner. His arm was most uncomfortable, but that would pass in the integration process, after the process was over he should be able to cast at least some spells more effectively, the Elder Wand was the greatest wand in the world after all. He tried enchanting a piece of random detritus lying about, the enchantment held, just a warming charm. That was good, that way he would still be able to make Bottomless Bags and etcetera. He couldn't cast magic into the air, it would be absorbed and dissipate, but he could anchor the spell on an object. Hopefully his magic would eventually somehow synch with Mundus' magic and he would be able to use them in tandem without the spells fizzling.

Last in the magical side of his experiments he cast the one spell that he frankly didn't feel safe without. He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing and brought up memories, oddly ones of Luna's burial, but that was one of the times when he had been truly in touch with his humanity.

"Expecto Patronum."

Like a silent shadow a dragon appeared from his hand, Charlie Weasley had identified it as a European, or rather Red, a dragon that looked like a 'Red, there were some differences. The spectral dragon flew around the room, but the place was still cramped. It also seemed more solid than he had had before. During the Necromancer conflict Harry had made liberal use of the Patronus, each silver dragon bathing the Dementors and Inferi in silvery fire. He had become almost known for the spell. Though the dragon didn't burn the physical form it did incredible damage to the spiritual essences of the creatures, it also acted as a veritable Anathema to dark magic.

He patted the animal on the nose and absorbed it into himself again, then sat down on the throne, he felt slightly drained by the experience of bringing back that memory. Considering the cracked ring on his hand he turned it three times, willing someone to visit him. However no one did, whether they were out of reach, or just gone he didn't know, but it made him sad.

Harry performed a few experiments with his new body, jumping a full twenty feet even without the Banishers, doing acrobatics, breakdancing, the usual. Then, happy with his new body he wandered about the city, looking for clothes and food. The cold temperatures prevented anything from spoiling, but instead he found desiccated husks of apples and the like. He found several sets of archaic armour around Saarthal, many were ruined, but from a few different sets he pieced together a full suit.

Pulling the last plate over his arm he admired his new armour, it was from his limited experience basically what a Viking might wear. Well, the Potters were historically part of the Norman invasion of Britain, and the Normans were descended from the Danes, so he didn't feel like so much of an imposter. He took up the axe again, and tucked it into his belt. He drew it and replaced it several times to make sure there were no catches in the sheath, then hacked away at invisible foes. Then he smiled and went away to find a helmet and a shield. If he was dealing with Danish analogues he would be best to dress like them, he might blend in more.

On a stone table next to the corpse in the throne he found a small note. It seemed that someone had sealed 'Jyrik Gauldurson' in the Barrow for his crimes. It also mentioned a 'charm' that should be sealed by a ward. Harry assumed that he had broken the ward so took the necklace that the corpse bore and tied it around his own neck, putting it under his armour. It felt vaguely magical but he couldn't detect what kind of magic it contained.

His journey brought him to the Word Wall in a room adjoining the larger hall containing the Eye. He examined the writing this time with mortal eyes. Suddenly he heard a sound, the pounding of drums echoing in the dark. Then came a chant, many voices and his vision grew dark.

_**Dovakhiin, Dovakhiin, naal ok zin los vahriin,**_

The noise grew around him and he staggered, the chant roared higher.

_**Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal,**_

One word on the wall lit up with a blue light, shining out.

_**Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan,**_

The drums pounded louder and Harry staggered, strands of energy whipped out of the wall and into him, he tried to get away but the lights followed him.

_**Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!**_

Suddenly the chant stopped. The Song died away and the lights receded, Harry stood once again, thoughts were swirling about his skull, the Song continued, somewhere at the back of his mind, just out of reach, the words indistinct, yet scored into his memory. He panted, and then struggled to his feet.

He felt somehow different; something deep in his chest roared and raged, a fire burned through his newly made veins. He longed to fly.

Harry stopped and took deep breaths, the beast inside him stopped raging and receded, but he still longed to be out under the sky. He decided to find the last pieces of his piecemeal armour then head out, excavating the tunnel would be the first priority, but there were only some boulders left, and he could shatter them with his new strength.

After the strangeness of the lights Harry continued his search for armour. After several hours musing and tunnelling, Harry decided to change his name. He had been considering his new identity for some time, if he was in a foreign country, a foreign world even, he could not have a strange name to make him stick out even more. It would be best to hail from a faraway place, but one that the name was recognised. Stopping at one of his favourite sections of the carvings, he decided on a new identity.

Henceforth he would be Harald of Atmora, stranger from the north, named after the 13th King in the line of Ysgramor and founder of the great Kingdom of Skyrim, (or so the carvings told him).

Harald donned a horned helmet, intricately carved to supplement his armour, and slung a similarly made shield over his shoulder. Then, after five years in Saarthal, he strode out of the chamber, the Eye of Magnus at his back, and into the frozen world of Skyrim.


	3. Winterhold

Harald shielded his eyes from the blizzard, he could see at best, three feet at once, even with his enhanced eyes. He had encountered nothing, and navigated only by stumbling about in the snow, three times he had fallen down crevasses, unhurt but annoyed he struggled on.

He was not cold, far from it, he had unconsciously deployed a heating charm on himself and was quite warm, but the metal plates of his armour had no such protection and if he touched them his skin stuck and it was vexing to pull off. He was however growing hungry, and hoped to find an inn or some such reasonably soon. The years in Saarthal as a spirit had given him rudimentary knowledge of the land, and he knew to make north in search of the prosperous city there, but that was several miles away at least, and he had no idea how far he had travelled, his circling footsteps and the deep snow had thrown his reckoning off completely.

Without warning Harald's foot came down on thin air, he had walked off another cliff. Harald sighed and loosened his muscles in preparation for the landing. However, it was soft; he landed in a snow drift rather than on rocks. He flailed about for a few seconds, trying to reach the bottom so he could dig his way out. This was swiftly accomplished, and Harald stepped out onto a road.

The Wizard grinned, now he was getting somewhere.

He jogged along, following the road for an hour in the general direction he had been going and the blizzard lessened. The sky was white, the ground as white, and the mountains on his right were grey, but, he had to admit, he did seem further north than before, hopefully if he followed the roast east when he reached it he would get to the city. A short time later he heard hooves beating away at the flagstones, he turned to see a troop of cavalry, around a dozen, bearing down on him. Harald unslung his shield and brought his axe out, but held it at his side, in a fairly non-threatening manner.

The head of the pack, an armoured man with a flag showing a grey star rode up and hailed him. Harald realised with a start that he did not actually speak Nordic, only read it along with Atmoran. Though, if he was keeping with his cover story, he wouldn't be expected to, given that he was from the continent far across the northern sea.

"Good Day to you." He called back, raising a hand; he took off his helmet and replaced his weapons now that the men didn't show any overt hostility.

The leader questioned him again, pointing with his spear and tapping the tip on his scavenged breastplate.

"This?" Harald replied, "I got it from a tomb, but that doesn't matter, since you can't understand a word I'm saying anyway." He was hoping the man took him somewhere civilised, if he heard enough of the language his superior brain would be able to understand it in record time. He might get a headache though.

The horseman was frowning at him.

"Harald." He told the man, indicating himself. "I'm from Atmora." He said, pointing north. The leader recognised that name, "I came here by ship, but it crashed further down the coast." He mimed rowing at an oar, then flew his hand through the air, bobbing it up and down like a boat, then running it into his other hand, made into a fist to symbolise a boat being crashed.

"Atmora?" the man asked from his horse, the repeated the same boat crashing motions, then pointed to Harald.

"Yes, Atmora." Harald said, indicating himself once again. He pointed to the cavalry, "Skyrim." Then himself, "Atmora."

The leader nodded then pointed to the back of his horse and held out a hand. Harald understood and slung himself up on the back of the animal, not using the proffered hand as much as he would have in case he pulled the man off with his strength. The rider called out a command and the troop canted off down the road. Harald found it slightly awkward to hold on, as he was obliged to cling on as best he could around the man's waist, but coped well.

Soon they crossed around the spur of the mountains, to their left was the long coast of Skyrim and Harald could see the blue-green waves washing over small islands and rocky stacks out to sea, gulls flew and cried on the air above them. Soon they would reach the city up ahead, but the landscape was not how Harald remembered it from his years using the Eye of Magnus to scry out the land.

After another hour of riding in silence the troop reached the city, however, it was certainly not as Harald remembered it, he recognised only one structure, a large castle set at the furthest point of the city on a large spur or rock, however, the castle was now literally standing alone, they rode around the edge of a precipice and Harald saw the chasm that opened up between the decimated town and the castle. He wondered what had happened here.

The troop rode into the town, now only a town, perhaps a hundred houses scattered on the slopes of one of the outliers of the mountains. They came to a stop outside a longhouse. Harald was actually quite excited to see one of these 'in the flesh' or rather the 'wood'. True, he had lived in a castle for the cast majority of his life, but it was more of a manor house, with many additions built on over the years, this was the real thing.

The man in front of him tapped his knee and pointed at the ground. Harald slid off the horse, then looked around him. Several of the riders were calling out to the townsfolk in Nordic, and small children came up to take the reins of the horses. Apparently the troop of horsemen was a regular appearance in the town, as most people seemed to recognise them. The same people pointed and whispered behind their hands at his outlandish appearance, and the leader of the troop motioned for him to follow inside the larger house.

Harald did so; the inside was fairly standard for what he had expected, a dark smoky interior with a high ceiling, several torches spluttering in sconces and lamps of whale oil. Standing about were various tall rough looking men, some dressed in furs and some in other clothes. The cavalry leader told him to stop, and went to talk to one of the men. The two walked back and Harald was introduced to 'Jarl Kjark'. Harald knew a Jarl was an old term for a king, so bowed appropriately.

The Kjark questioned him without success for a few minutes, then Harald got bored. He picked up a spoon and used it to write a message in the packed dirt of the floor.

_I am Harald of Atmora, son of Jarl Beowulf of Götaland. _He wrote. Passing himself off as royalty seemed a good idea, it might make them like him faster and treat him better, and at that time the only vaguely Danish sounding name he could think of was Beowulf. He recalled that they didn't have surnames at this point in time, rather identifying themselves via lineage or place of birth.

_Greetings_, wrote the Jarl back in an uncertain hand, as if he didn't have a reason to write very much, _Fredrick tells me you came by ship and they found you wandering on the west road, what brings you to WInterhold?_

Harald assumed Fredrick was the cavalryman with the star. _I was making for the first landing place in Skyrim in the old times, as Ysgramor did, my ship crashed onto rocks and I swam ashore, what happened to the city? I heard it was a large one._

_The Great Collapse _wrote back the Jarl, _five years ago storms covered the entire Cape, waves eroded the land and it fell into the Sea of Ghosts, only the College and a handful of homes are left_

Harald controlled his reactions, five years was approximately the time he had materialised, his arrival may have indirectly caused this 'Collapse'. _College?_ He asked after a moment's thought.

_The College of Winterhold, wizards, have you not heard of them?_

Harald thought it most fortuitous that he materialised so close to a school of wizards, perhaps he could join them, he'd have to do it carefully though, Viking types tended to distrust magic as a rule, he better ingratiate himself with them.

_We use honest steel Atmora _

Kjark laughed and related the joke to his people, there were murmurs of agreement. Then he walked off, leaving Harald squatting in the dirt with a spoon.

After the Jarl had left, Fredrick gave him a tour around the town, some of the buildings had an obvious function, there was a blacksmith, a logging station and a small dock with several boats moored. Various people were butchering a whale they had brought it. Then there was a tavern. Of course there was a tavern, they were Vikings.

Frederick also showed him a separate quarter of the town; built into burrows in the mountains were a series of smaller houses, these were inhabited by the polar opposite of Snow Elves. Instead of the white skin and hair and blue eyes they had almost black skin, the colour of volcanic soil, dark hair of various shades, red and black being predominant, and glowing red eyes.

Harald asked Frederick through writing in the snow about the Dark Elves, he learnt that they were refugees from Morrowind and were called 'Dunmer' and had received visions from a higher power to come to Winterhold. Harald absorbed this information and asked more via snow writing, he uncovered much of the history of the world, and was eventually visited by the local blacksmith, who asked by proxy to trade Harald's scavenged armour for a more modern set, as the man wanted to examine it. Harald agreed, after all, there was a whole armoury back in Saarthal, and as out of the men in Skyrim only he could move the boulder he had put in the entrance he was not worried about anyone stealing his things.

Frederick also invited him to join up as a cavalryman, he explained that raiders were prevalent in that area, some making their way south from Solstheim and attacking the port cities of Skyrim. Solitude was fine, given its sheltered harbour, but Dawnstar and Winterhold were vulnerable, Dawnstar more so.

"Why you away Dawnstar?" Harald asked him as they patrolled along the road, he had picked up quite a few words as he lived and worked with the Nords, and could hold a passable conversation on most subjects. There had been reasonable curiosity toward him, but most people had asked their questions then seeing that he couldn't answer in detail they wandered off to get on with their lives.

"_Curribiach_" replied Fredrick.

Harald articulated his puzzlement.

"Holds, Jarls, together but apart."

"Politics? You're here because of political reasons?" Harald guessed hesitantly.

"Aye." Replied Frederick, slowing to a trot as they rounded a promontory of rock, "Dawnstar has no use for cavalry, yet many harousser, so they sent us out to be houvelin to Winterhold."

"I assume harousser means horse?" Harald asked him, tapping the neck of his mount.

"Aye," said Frederick again, "Harousser."


	4. Corsairs

Harald stayed in Frederick's troop for several weeks, learning more of the language and practicing his weapon skills during the time, they captured a raiding ship in the time and over the seasons Harald became one of the foremost warriors of Winterhold, using his augmented strength and speed to help win any skirmishes they came across, most were too small to be called a battle, and they happened seldom so his sword was usually left in its scabbard. He developed over time a low, rolling accent, a combination of his native English and adopted Nordic, he also repeated the story of Beowulf, impressing the tavern he was in with the exploits of his 'father'.

He fought bandits, raiders, bears, falmer and at one point, a giant. Said giant looked nothing like Grawp, but after he was dead it didn't matter. He earned several arm rings in that time, rings were symbols of notoriety, if you killed a man you took his rings, gold were more valuable than silver, and silver more so than copper and so on. Traditionally a chief granted a ring to his subordinate for particularly useful or heroic actions to the hold. Harald had two from Dawnstar's Jarl and three from Winterhold's which made him a respected man around the North, easily recognisable because of his horned helmet dark hair and bright green eyes.

Later, much later, in fact around a year after he had arrived the Dunmer from Solstheim came down on the winds, the sharp prows of their ships cutting through the waves. They swept east raiding smaller villages around there, eight ships in total, and finally came into Winterhold's harbour one day as a snowstorm came in. Dunmer were not used to, or dealt well with cold, but this didn't stop them. Harald was at the smithy, trying to get a sharpening spell to hold on his new sword without much success, something about impurities in the metal, when he heard the alarm bells.

He ran out into the road and followed the other running figures; most were making for the harbour and the small fleet Winterhold maintained. Most were trading or whaling ships, however some showed the sleek lines and dragon heads of warships. As Harald crested the windbreak set up over the cliff created by the Great Collapse he saw strange ships in the harbour and dark figures running to and fro at the bottom. A party of Nords were making their way down the long ramp to the seashore but would probably take too long at that rate. The Dark Elves were not here to raid, as Harald had thought but for a cutting out operation. Six of the strange, narrow ships had come into the harbour and had been dragged ashore up the beach while the crews manned the oars of the Winterhold vessels and raided the store for such precious commodities as whale oil and wool.

Harald was a very bored immortal at that point, the patrols were getting tiresome and there was nothing to do in Winterhold, he couldn't go in the College yet because they were 'not currently accepting applicant students' so he generally wandered about. He really wanted to get at the library that he knew to exist there, but they wouldn't let him in. However, seeing the raiders gave him an excellent opportunity.

Taking his sword he ran to a pulley, then quickly examining it he cut the rope that held the cargo at the bottom and grabbed the cut end. Then he jumped off the ledge, the counterweight slowing his descent. He kicked off the cliff side several times before reaching the bottom, then made his way toward the boats.

Several of the Dunmer saw him running up and raised their weapons. However, these were no match for him and he quickly dispatched them, his speed superior to the elves' One sword stroke got through his guard but was deflected by his armour.

More Dunmer heard him fight and came at him, however most were now occupied in preventing the Nords from coming down the slope, Harald was working on one last elf and wishing he had brought his shield and helmet out with him, rather than his basic armour that he wore out and about a anyway. The Dunmer swordsman hissed at him, red eyes narrowed, but then they widened and glanced down to see Harald's sword in his gut.

More elves were heading out from the boats, knowing that it wouldn't matter if they got the boats ready if the Nords were right behind them. Harald got caught up in another clump of them and had to deflect one raider swinging some miscellaneous length of wood at him. Just then the elf was knocked to the side by a shard to spear of ice coming from above. Harald looked up and saw indistinct figures of mages from the College lobbing spells down on the invaders from above. There was a blue sheen to the stone, no doubt a protective ward raised when they heard the bells. He raised his sword in their direction in support and advanced toward a clump of Dunmer that had drawn up into a phalanx, their feet just in the waves lapping gently against the shore. Some were holding up shimmering shields above the group whilst others returned fire against the College mages with either bows or spells.

One of the Housecarls, the 'career soldiers' of Winterhold began a chant. "Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out! OUT!" every third word spat out at the invaders. The rest clashed shield and weapon together in time with the words.

Harald joined up with the opposing phalanx of Nords, they had formed a shield wall, each right edge of a man's shield overlapping with his neighbours and so on. Harald was on the right flank, in the second row, almost at the end of the line. The formation advanced, spells were thrown by the Elves and by the mages of the College, some did little damage and were caught on shield, magical or metal, whilst others penetrated through, skewering or immolating those hit. Harald saw one of the Dunmer battlemages charging their hands with crackling electricity and ducked back behind the shield of the man in front of him. The mage unleashed the spell, lightning danced along the wall and over the armour of the Nords. Most had some kind of insulator; however some fell down their skin smoking with superficial burns, their hearts stopped. The men next to and before Harald were dead or injured to badly to fight, Harald was now relatively vulnerable, or would have been had he been mortal.

He seized the large shield of the dead man who had been in front of him in the formation and span around with it, building up momentum before he threw it toward the Dunmer. The shield span, its colourful pattern blurring with speed, he did not wait for it to land and sprinted forward, having no time to re-join the Nords he pushed off a rock and veritably flew into the Elves, crashing down and killing on Elf he roared up, yelling at the Dunmer, then stabbed and slashed around him, he killed two elves as he made for the battlemage with the lightning spell, and removed the head from his enemy. He turned to head shouts behind him as the rest of the Nords, spurred on by his example, broke formation and rushed in. A contest between Nord armies was usually a battle between shield walls, this was a brawl. The Nords had the upper hand though, they were used to this sort of fighting and used their heavier bodies to bull their way through the Dunmer defences, hacking away at guards and blocks the Dunmer swordsmen employed against them.

Since Harald assumed that elves were the same everywhere, he thought that the Dunmer here would be far more elegant in their swordplay than the Nords, who just tended to hack away at it until it died.

As the last of the Dunmer were rounded up and killed, the Nords apparently having no concept or reason for taking prisoners, Harald looked out to their suddenly increased navy. Of the original eight corsair ships, two had stayed out to sea to serve as lookouts; the other six had made their way under the bridge to the College and into the harbour, which meant that in they now had a total of eleven warships ready at Winterhold.

"Atmoran!" called a familiar voice over the wind, Harald turned, Kjark and several other men were walking up the beach toward him.

"Jarl." He called back, he had not noticed the Jarl in the fighting, but the blood on the other man's blade proved he was.

"Well fought, we saw you jump the cliff." Kjark said, clapping him on the shoulder and smiling.

"I thought I'd keep them busy while you people made you way down." Replied Harald.

"Did you indeed? Well we shall have to be not so slow next time, otherwise you will have killed all the enemies before we reach the battlefield." Laughed Kjark, the other join in the merriment, the Jarl turned toward the ships. "Which do you want?" he asked suddenly.

Harald was mildly surprised, but not so much, Kjark would want to take the fight back to the Dunmer and would need captains that he could trust.

"That one." He said at length, pointing to the largest of the Dunmer ships. Nord ships would be captained by Nords, he was a stranger, therefore he wouldn't get one of them, besides, the raiding ships were faster, and he wanted to get to the fight before the others.

"You choose well." Said a man next to Kjark that Harald did not know.

"You looking to be steersman?" Harald guessed, the position of steersman was the second best in comparison with the captaincy.

"By you leave my Jarl?" the man asked Kjark, the Jarl nodded, walked off and left the two together.

"Haestan." Said the aforeintroduced holding out a hand.

"Harald." Harald replied, clasping the hand.

A week later ships bearing the gray star of Dawnstar hoved into view, Harald had asked Frederick to ride quickly back to his town and invite the Dawnstar crews to raid with them, and they replied with five of their own ships. Most of these ships were _snekkja_, the smallest and most common type of longboat with a crew capacity of forty, Jarl Kjark was coming to Viking himself, and he captained from a _Skei_, a larger ship with around eighty men occupying it. The total force was most of the fighting men from Winterhold and Dawnstar, as well as more than a few women. However, each captain was expected to crew his own ship.

This presented a problem for Harald and his dromond. Not all the raider's ships were being crewed, as they were strange to the Nords and they didn't trust the foreign vessels, sticking with their own dragon-headed boats. One other captain had decided to take a dromond, and already had a crew; however Harald was having slight problems in persuading men to come to his ship, rather than any of the other captains. Haestan had managed to lure a few people away from the other captains however they were at least twenty short.

Dromonds were long, thin ships, longer and thinner than the longboats at least, they had two masts with lanteen sails, triangular in shape and set at an angle. There were twenty five rowing benches along each side and a long line of planks running along the length of the vessel. At the back two steering oars were controlled by a horizontal bar that one would stand behind and push either way in the direction one wished to go in. Because of the reduced width of the vessel and its increased complement of rowers it went much quicker than the longships.

Harald wandered down the central road as twilight fell. The news of the fleet had spread throughout the hold and many people had come in hopes of raiding with them. Raiding was one of the best ways of acquiring wealth in the north of Skyrim where it was difficult to farm or raise livestock.

As he walked he heard raised voices from between two houses. Proceeding to the disturbance he walked brazenly in, he was well known around the town and could handle himself regardless of the particulars of the fight. As Harald entered the alleyway he quickly put together what had happened. After the battle the College mages had lowered their defences and several had come out to help with the rebuilding, healing was one skill in high demand in Skyrim, so almost every mage knew a spell or two to help with the aftermath. However, since the Red Year, when many of the Dunmer had fled away from Morrowind many had settled in Winterhold and made up the vast majority of the mages in the College. The problem of course with this, was that many Nords could not accurately make the distinction between the raiders and the mages in the College.

So as Harald saw it, two young mages had got lost on their way back and were now cornered by half a dozen most likely drunken Nords wanting revenge for the raid.

"What's all this then?" Harald asked in his best London Policeman accent.

Several of the Nords span around. Various explanations came from various people, the two Dunmer mages wisely stayed quiet. Seeing his unimpressed look they fell silent, eyes glowering at him. Given that he didn't recognise any of them he assumed that they were some of the immigrants wanting to take part in the raiding.

He drew his sword, sparking the other men to raise their fists and knives; however he stabbed his own weapon into the snow and pushed through them to stand in front of the two elves. He wasn't aware of any particular reason to be protecting these two, perhaps because he didn't want others to be bullied as he had in the early years of Hogwarts before he got too powerful for anyone. Or it was his 'saving people thing'.

"Come on then." He told them, dropping into a boxer's stance.

The Nords looked to each other warily, then as one backed away slowly their hands raised.

"Oh." Said Harald as they walked off. "I was expecting a fight. How disappointing."

"Harald of Atmora?" asked one of the Dunmer behind him.

Harald turned, the mages were lowering their hoods, one was male with a short pointed beard and black hair combed back along his scalp, that was the one who spoke, the other a female, red hair, all cheekbones and chin, a very pointy face. "You know me?" he asked.

"Indeed, the Arch-Mage has wished to speak with you for some time." The male replied.

"Well I did try to get into the College a while ago." Said Harald somewhat puzzledly.

"Yes, I know." Said the Elf, "No one wanted to invite you."

Harald raised an eyebrow as he sheathed his sword.

"We didn't want another Ysgramor on our hands." Said the female bluntly.

"Another Ysgramor?" asked Harald, then realised what they were talking about, "Oh, I see, well, no fear there, we only hate the Mer because they tried to steal the Eye of Magnus."

"What?" asked the female bluntly again.

Harald shook his head, "You seem to know who I am, yet I do not know your names." He asked them, looking from one to the other.

"Savos Aren" the male said, nodding.

"And this lovely lady?" asked Harald sarcastically, indicating the other.

"My sister, Siva, both apprentices at the College." Said Savos while Siva glared at him.

Harald saw an opportunity here.

"Either of you wouldn't happen to be Telvanni would you?" he asked, referring to the isolationist wizarding House of old Morrowind.

"I don't know if that's relevant." said Savos defensively.

"You are then, I have a proposal." Continued Harald. "I had acquired a ship, we are going Viking on Solstheim, the Redoran live there, if I remember my Dunmer politics correctly, your two houses don't get along."

"Well we perhaps are a cadet branch of the Great House, and we…perhaps do not have the best of relations with the Redoran, but I still fail to see how this is relevant." Said Savos uncertainly.

"I feel that two mages would be beneficial to the expedition, there's gold in it if you agree." Harald said. "You'll get to use your magic in real life." He promised them, "They must keep you cooped up in the College far too much."

At length they both agreed, Harald also got them to promise to find some other Dunmer to join the expedition, filling up several more benches. Then he went off in search of the men who had been harassing the Arens, finding them in a tavern he gave them the same offer, promising gold and glory. All accepted, and some of the other patrons in the tavern heard him and wanted to come as well. Which filled up all the remaining benches, he even had to turn away a few people as otherwise he would be full up. He did take five additional crewmen, all random drunks off the street, he could always chain them to the oars, thought the Nords might disapprove of that.

The next day was filled with familiarising the crew with his new ship. He drilled them on running out and stowing their oars, as well as boarding procedure and getting up to battle speed. They did all this in the small bay around the harbour to Winterhold and had a small crowd on the bridge to the College watching them. After several hours of this the Dawnstar fleet had restocked enough to be ready to sail to Solstheim. Longships could reverse, it turned out, and to go backwards they simply shifted over to the other side of the oar and rowed the other way, they were also wider and far more manoeuvrable than the dromonds. Harald talked strategy with Haestan.

"We come in like this," Haestan explained, moving his hands around in the air to symbolise ships, "we are the faster, but out turning circle is much wider, so we must make the first strike count, and secure the other vessel before they escape and regroup."

"We can't come in slow?" Asked Harald.

"No, in that slack they have us beaten, not can we mount a ram and break their hull, we are the weaker." Replied the steersman, his shaggy hair shaking as he indicated the negative.

"Glass cannon then." Murmured Harald to himself.

Soon they set sail, two dromonds first needing the room to manoeuvre , five ships from Dawnstar who were already out to sea, Frederick captaining the lead one, and then finally the Winterhold fleet, with Kjark at its head in his flagship and several other vessels that had been crewed.

They had all told around five hundred men, then someone how to point out how Ysgramor had the same number and how both he and Harald were Atmoran. This was taken as an excellent omen by the crews and Kjark made the appropriate rights to Shor, imploring the god for their blessing in the venture.

It had turned out that they had a Companion with them. Just as they were setting out an armoured woman had jumped aboard Harald's ship, demanding to be allowed to go. Harald had heard about the purported great skill of the Companions, and had allowed it. Her name was Olena and boasted that she was descended in direct lineage from Hrotti Blackblade, one of the original Five Hundred that came with Ysgramor. Harald had not known the name of the dromond, and he was informed it was bad luck to not give your ship a name. Having no better ideas Harald named it after himself.

The _Fyrdraca _slipped out of Winterhold harbour one misty afternoon, as the strong tide ebbed westwards they slid away from the sandy shore and rowed past the low sandspit that guarded the docks. The oars creaked in their leather-lined holes, the bow's breast split the waves to shatter water white along the hull. The steering oar fought against him as Harald felt his spirits rise to a small wing and he looked up into the pearly sky and touched the hammer amulet at his chest. This was repeated along the boat, giving thanks to Shor and Talos, patron gods of the North.

A few small fishing boats dotted the inshore waters, but as they went north and east, away from land, the sea emptied. Harald looked back at the low dun hills slashed brighter green where rivers pierced the coast, and then they were alone on the sea, scouting ahead with their faster ship. The last faded from green to grey and the hills became a shadow on the horizon. White birds circled and men in the bow heaved a carved dragon head from the deck and fixed it to the prow.


	5. Solstheim

The island of Solstheim was discovered late by the Empire, and was never officially considered part of any province until the early Forth Ear when it was ceded to the Dunmer of House Redoran after their home was destroyed in the Red Year. According to Nord legend, it was originally a part of the mainland until a titanic battle between two Dragon Priests ended in Solstheim being sundered from the rest of Skyrim. The East Empire Company had set up a trading post there to exchange goods with the local Skald villages and exploit the bountiful opportunities for ebony mining in the Raven Rock area. In recent years tensions between the Houses Redoran, Telvanni and the local Nords had created problems in the mining, the ebony was rapidly running out, or rather, mining operations were being held up by the recent excavation of an ancient Nordic tomb and blockages in some kind of impenetrable ice like mineral. The Dunmer had mostly ceased their efforts in mining for the moment and had sent out messages to begin overtures of friendship with the Skald villages. The Nords were having none of it and had turned the messengers away, keeping to themselves and their own affairs.

The _Fyrdraca _slowly cut through the waters around the western shore of the island, they began to see costal settlements, some were surprisingly large. Haestan told Harald that the Nords in the villages mined tin and other elements from the ground, in small amounts. He knew because his father had been a trader and frequently sailed this coast.

"If they have tin they must have money, and if they have money they must use it to trade, perhaps we can sell them some of the riches from Raven Rock." Said Harald as he stood at the stern of the boat, talking with his steersman.

"You still don't know where Kjark plans to raid." Said Haestan, leaning on the oar.

Harald ignored him. "Do they have a king or Jarl?" he asked, waving an arm at the coast villages.

No one knew. It seemed probably, thought where the king lived or who his was no one was sure, perhaps as Haestan suggested there was more than one king, in the manner of Skyrim. They did have weapons though as one night the when _Fydraca_ swept into a small bay an arrow whistled, flying from a cliff top to be swallowed in the sea beside the starboard oars. They might have never have known the arrow had been shot except Savos Aren in the bow happened to be looking up and saw it, fletched with dirty grey feathers, flickering down from the sky to vanish with a plop. One arrow, and no others followed, so perhaps it was a warning. That night Harald let the ship lie at its anchor and in the dawn saw two cows grazing close to a stream.

"The cows are there to kill us." Haestan warned them.

"The cows are there to kill us?" Harald repeated in amusement.

"I've seen it before, they put cows out to bring us on land, and then they attack." One problem with raiding was the battles. Even if you won a battle you had to win it with sufficient men to row back home, therefore the Nords sometimes declined to fight, instead preferring to go for less dangerous targets. Besides, they weren't planning to raid the Skald villages; they were fellow Nords after all. The Skalds most likely thought they were a Dunmer corsair.

Harald granted the cows mercy, hauled anchor and pulled toward the bay's mouth. A howl leapt up from the shore behind them and he saw a crowd of men appear from behind the bushes and trees. Harald took off one of his silver rings and gave it to Haestan, as was the traditional thanks. Haestan was inordinately pleased, his arms were only adorned with copper, and he polished his new ornament all morning.

The coast became wilder and the refuge more difficult to find, but the weather was placid. They captured a small eight oared ship that was returning to Morrowind and reieved it of sixteen silver pieces, three knives, a heap of copper ingots, a sack of goose feathers and six goatskins. They were hardly becoming rick, though the _Fyrdraca's _belly was becoming cluttered with pelts, fleeces and ingots of metal.

"We need to sell it all." Said Haestan.

It was true, raiding a town would provide more than enough bounty for the hold, and the pelts would begin to spoil if Harald kept them in the damp underbelly for much longer. So at the next bay they sailed in, landing around a mile away from the port there. There were no cows this time, but Harald ordered the trade goods taken out of the hold and brought onto the beach. They still had a day till the fleet arrived and the _Fyrdraca _was due to rendezvous with Kjark. The Jarl had given him the singular honour of exploring the land out, finding the precise locations and positions of the towns and the strength of the Dunmer navy. Their first port of call had been Raven Rock, the old East Empire station and ebony mine. From there they had observed various craft, along with two familiar dromonds. This was the main reason Harald knew Kjark would attack Raven Rock, the enemy ships had come into that port, and the town had the valuable ebony. After that they had made their way north, into the Nord side of the island, rather than stay around the Dunmer area, the Nords had been scared of them, well, perhaps not scared, they were Nords after all, but wary, and Harald had not gone too close.

About an hour later they saw a party of Nords coming down the coast, evidently they had been scouted, and the party was carrying bundles, not weapons. They were armed, but showed no hostility.

Harald removed his helmet, giving it to Haestan. Then strode forward, holding up a hand. The negotiations went well, Haestan translated into the Solstheim dialect and served as interpreter. Harald gave them the greetings of Winterhold and inquired whether they wanted to trade. They did, and most of the pelts, whale oil and tin they had taken from the ship and Winterhold was removed from the _Fyrdraca_ the Skald chief also got the story of the Dunmer raid on the Hold, and grew quite angry at it. To finish the negotiations Harald exchanged rings with the Chief, swapping one of his with one of the chiefs as an indication of a fair trade.

Harald hinted at where they were going and several of the other Nords corroborated, the Skalds grumbled much, and eventually their chief gave them permission to join the expedition. One of the Skald longhsips was run out and joined the dromond in sailing south, toward one of the smaller islands on the southern tip of Solstheim.

The two ships sailed for a day, reaching the flotilla as it was still out to sea. Lining the dromond up and hoisting the sail but stowing all the oars on one side the _Fyrdraca_ bore down on Kjark's _Skei_, as Haestan was steering well and had got in enough practice in the sheltered bays of Solstheim and did his job well. As the two ships came together, almost touching, Harald jumped from the _Fyrdraca_ and over the raised oars of the flagship. He landed, grasping the mast and was cheered by both crews for the leap.

This was not perhaps the customary method of transferring from ship to ship, but Harald did not fancy getting wet, and they had no smaller boats to row in. Jarl Kjark shouldered his way through the press.

"Hail Atmoran." The Jarl greeted.

"Permission to come aboard." Asked Harald with a mock salute, he liked Kjark, the Jarl was much more in touch with the population than other leaders he had met. Also he seemed to just be a nice man.

"Granted." Said Kjark laughing and gestured for him to come to the back of the boat where several chairs sat and an awning covered them from the lightly falling snow.

"The scouting's done." Said Harald as they sat down.

The Jarl nodded, motioning for him to continue.

"We made a swoop past Raven Rock first, closest settlement, had a look in their harbour. The other two dromonds are there." He explained.

"Set course for Raven Rock." Bellowed Kjark to the lookout in the bow, money changed hands between the sailors as bets and wagers were fulfilled or lost.

"Thought you'd say that when you found out." Continued Harald, "Anyway, after I saw that I went further north, we captured a Dunmer ship, took its cargo but let the crew go, they were just traders, then went north again. Traded the goods in at a Skald village, apparently they've been having trouble with the Dunmer as well."

"Aye, there have been rumours." Said Kjark, offering Harald a horn of water from a barrel bolted to the deck next to them.

"Well they wanted to come along as well." Said Harald pointing off to a smaller longship by his own dromond, its single square sail barred in red and white stripes.

"Well done, you've done me good service in this." Said Kjark, sitting back in his chair, slumped down, right elbow balanced on the arm.

"Jarl." Said Harald, not thinking of anything else to say, Nords did not usually acknowledge thanks or compliments, they would rather repay the kindness with loyal service or equal kindness. They also didn't give gifts lightly, and especially not to someone of the opposite sex, that was seen as courtship behaviour.

"I'm thinking that if you survive the battle there's a position of Thane open in the Hold." Said Kjark.

"I'll have to survive then wont I?" asked Harald rhetorically.

They spoke of general things for some time after, making conversation till Harald's dromond came near again. Harald bade the Jarl farewell and proceeded to replicate his jumping manoeuvre on the other ships, sometimes just drawing alongside and yelling the jarl's orders to their captains. As they didn't have any proper information about Raven Rock, other than Haestan's vague remembering of his father's trading missions, the Jarl had decided to just attack the city and steal everything that wasn't nailed down before making away as quickly as possible. Whilst this was very easy to do for any other ship, Harald's dromond could not go in reverse easily, so his ship would be one of the first ones to go in, and would then disgorge the fighting men before tying up and having some of the crew turn it around.

At dusk the plan was put into effect, it worked, but there was surprisingly little resistance, the Redoran retreated to a huge wall, hiding inside away from the raiders. This mildly surprised the raiders, but they plundered all the same.

Harald was mildly disgruntled as he sat toasting his hands by town's forge's fire. The favoured Thanes already in Kjark's service had followed him up the large buildings along the barrier wall and he had wandered about for a while being bored. They couldn't get into the wall and to the defenders, or into many of the houses as they appeared locked by magic. There was plenty of treasure to steal, as well as other valuable materials and other things, as well as four more dromonds to hijack, but Harald had still half a hold to fill before they returned.

Around him stood Haestan, the Aren siblings and several others from his crew who hadn't given leave of their minds and ran about the town, kicking in doors and raiding cupboards. He was turning an unfinished sword over in his hands; the metal was dark and reflected the light of the fire like obsidian. This was ebony, the half rock, half crystal that Raven Rock was famous for. They were all trying to think of places to raid, and having found nothing they were simply standing around by a fire to keep warm.

"Has anyone actually checked the ebony mine yet?" asked Harald at large.

"Locked with magic." Said Haestan annoyed, leaning on the haft of a large axe.

"We have mages." Harald replied, pointing with the unfinished sword to the two Dunmer. The two apprentices were actually the only true mages in the fleet. Some Nords on other ships had rudimentary knowledge of magic, but it was limited to small spells of light or fire. Kjark had his court Wizard, a man Harald did not get on with at all, and Kjark had set him to trying to get into the Bulwark where most of the Dunmer had fled.

"Dunmer mages might be able to get into a Dunmer ward." Said one of the warriors behind Harald.

"Point." Haestan agreed.

"Well then." Said Harald, and they all set off toward a small gap in the wall to the mine. As they neared they saw a blue shimmer on the door, one of the Nords tried to kick it down anyway, but was thrown a few feet through the air backwards. He stood up grumbling and massaging his leg.

Savos went forward and investigated the ward. Then he stepped back, laughing.

"Idiots." He scoffed, "Every child knows that ward." He said, throwing an arm toward it, "Whoever said about Dunmer mages being able to unlock Dunmer wards was right. That's one that we use to lock doors and things against animals."

"Why'd it throw me back then?" asked the grumbling Nord who had tried to kick the door down.

"It responds to kinetic energy you brute." Savos admonished, "but electrical energy opens it."

"You know the spell?" asked Harstan as the rest of the Nords looked more hopeful.

Before Savos could respond his sister charged a spell, everyone scuttled back and Savos just dived to the ground, covering his head. Harald didn't see what all the fuss was about and just raised his shield in front of his face, that being the only unprotected part of his body.

Siva released the spell with a grunt of exertion, pushing her hands outwards, releasing a blinding flash and a thunderclap seconds later.

"Excellent!" exclaimed Harald after he picked himself off the floor. The rest moaned and blinked to try and regain their vision. The door was entirely gone.

"You actually liked that?" asked Savos aghast, "the Arch-Mage is about ready to kick her out of the College for destroying things; we had a whole floor collapse last month because of her, Master Deidrick needed the healing for five hours!"

"He was annoying me." Defended Siva.

"Well if they do kick you out you can always come work for me, overcharging spells wont be a problem there." Said Harald. chuckling jovially, ducking under the smoking hole where the door used to be and into the mine. As he passed her he saw a look flicker across Siva's face, her hostility had not faded, but she looked contemplative.

They filed into the mine, Haestan climbing ladder to an office and rifling through a desk of papers.

"There's crates and crates of ebony over here!" shouted one of the men happily from across the mine."

"Take it all back to the ship." Commanded Harald, he look up, "What've you found?" he called to Haestan who had disappeared into the office.

"Have a look in here." Came the voice, then a wooden chest was pitched out a window, crashing down and breaking as it hit the floor. Harald went and knelt next to it, inside were several pouches of gems and other precious metals, as well as papers and journals. He leafed through a few.

"Nothing much here." He said, secreting the gems behind his breastplate, "Just papers."

The men from the boats came back in and Haestan jumped down from the platform. Harald directed one of them to supervise the men gathering the crates of ebony and they continued at that. Haestan walked to a separate pile of boxes, and then used the edge of his sword to lever off the lid; these lumps of ore were like ice with small vapours coming off them. Haestan went to pick one up, but brought his hand back quickly shaking it.

"Cold, very cold." He said in explanation.

Harald considered for a moment, "Box it up and back to the boat with it, we'll take it too."

Haestan got a few other men to grab some of the new boxes, Savos got a satchel and gathered up all the papers for study later, as well as going to investigate the office further for more information. When he returned, the crews were still trying to get through the stacks of 'Ice-steel' as Haestan had termed it and the boxes of ebony.

"Didn't the Skalds say something about a Nordic tomb under the mine?" asked Haestan, looking down into the mine.

"I seem to remember something about that." Replied Harald.

"Think it's worth investigating?"

"Probably, should we bring the others?"

"Bad idea," put in Savos, "You might find one of his relatives down there."

After instructing the crew to continue and not to leave without them, Harald, Haestan and the Aren siblings made their way down the slope. They soon came to a wide shaft heading down, there were a series of ramps and platforms for mining the rockface. Harald spied a chain snaking down from a crane and directed the others to hang on while the chain ran out, him standing ready to slow it down. Then they did the same as he descended. This got them down much faster than the platforms and the group came to a clear doorway shape boarded over. Haestan kicked it down quickly, the boards splintering under his assault.

After they went through the door they were attacked by a Frostbite spider, Siva made short work of it with a fireball that almost collapsed the supports of the tunnel, but they continued on. A few minutes of crouching later Harald looked out on a larger cavern, very reminiscent of Saarthal. They passed through this before Savos gave a cry. Harald turned, in the blue Magelight that was hovering above his head Harald could see that the dead were coming to life.

"Draugr." Warned Haestan, decapitating it before it could fully stand.

Other ancient Nord dead began to stand and the group scattered, the Arens standing back to back, firing off spells against the mummified corpses. Harald drew his sword and engaged several of the awakened ones and started hewing into them. Through the centuries they had lost none of their strength, but they had become slow, their movements telegraphed and jerking.

"Keep moving, otherwise they'll keep waking up!" called Haestan, thrusting his torch into one Draugr's face, it burst into flames but kept coming at him. One of the mages sent an icicle at it and it fell.

The group ran on, until they reached a wide circular chamber. There three sarcophagi cracked open, disgorging taller Draugr with horned helmets and holding shining ebony weapons.

"Deathlords." Warned Savos, throwing a rune to land on the floor in front of the trio. The corpses stepped forward, walking over the rune. It exploded into fire, but the Deathlord was only staggered, quickly regaining his stride. Harald ran to parry a strike by the leftmost one against Haestan, whose back was turned as he was pressed back by a flurry of strikes by a Deathlord wielding twin swords.

Harald kicked the one with the battleaxe down and brought his sword down on the one attacking Haestan.

"Help the mages!" he told the steersman, risking a glance over to the Arens who were using their spells to keep one of the Deathlords from engaging them in melee. Haestan scrambled away, tackling the third Deathlord.

Harald faced the other two.

One cackled, its breath rattling its eyes growing blue in its sockets. Harald felt a calm set in, in his mind's eye he could see a candle, it was what he imagined whenever he had to face dementors, it represented everything they hated, hope, love, compassion. These creatures reminded him of the foot soldiers in the Necromancer conflict, and for that reason he hated them for bringing back his memories. He could perhaps fight all three at once, if he maximised his abilities, but not before they killed one of his companions, and he would not allow that to occour. He had another choice.

Late in that war he had fully unlocked the power of the Hallows, using them all together instead of singularly. He drew on that power now, he felt the Cloak falling about his shoulders and fastening itself, the Ring glinted in the light, suddenly on his hand, a dull warmth came from his right arm, where he had put the Elder Wand. Grey smokelike projections swirled around him, wreathing his body in mist.

The Draugr halted, their eyes analysing him. The sounds of battle died away from near him as the third noticed him, turning toward the Master of Death.

Harald had found in long years of study that having Mastery over Death was an incredibly powerful tool. This was obvious, but it sapped his will. To master something one had first to understand it, that meant that each time he unleashed the Hallows his mind was forcibly opened to Death. There was no sentient Grim Reaper, as described by Beadle the Bard, just the understanding of everything, the knowledge of the eventually destruction and oblivion that was certain to all things. Mastery over Death allowed him to quicken this process, or postpone it indefinitely. At his most powerful he had turned a legion of undead constructs, taken from graveyards across the country against their creator. He could banish spirits and souls with his spectral dragon Patronus and he could unravel magical enchantments and spells before they hit him.

The problem was summoning the necessary willpower to do this. When his used the Hallows together he saw the futility of life. Why life if you will eventually die anyway. That was what the Hallows whispered, they acknowledged his great power, they praised him for it, but they constantly reminded him that he was still mortal, and would eventually become nothing, just like everyone else.

These were the times Harald sympathised with Voldemort, he had actually agreed with a number of the Dark Lord's policies on reflection, there was ultimately no good and evil, and muggles had brought nothing but trouble to the Wizarding World. He understood why Voldemort had created his Horcruxes, it was an effort to fend off the clutching cold that enveloped once one went into oblivion.

That was why he created the candle. It was a mental construct, the sum of his reasons to live. He added to it each day, the smell of falling snow, the spray of the sea, the smile of a friend. The candle allowed him to function while he used the gift, and the curse, of the Hallows.

The Draugr watched as Harald extended his sword, tip toward them; the smoke still swirled around him. But then the Draugr screamed, their breath rattled out their mouths and their eyes faded as the magic sustaining them was ripped apart, the anchor that kept their souls trapped in the dead bodies severed. All three Deathlords collapsed to their knees, then toppled over onto their faces, their weapons clattering down onto the stone.

Harald dismissed the Hallows, the Ring vanished, the Cloak fell from his shoulders and he could no longer feel the Wand's heat. The shadows in his mind steadily receded and the shadows around his body evaporated into the air. He staggered forward a step, then stopped himself, he breathed deeply, inhaling the scents around him. He lived again, and he was happy.

"Come." He said, walking forward again. He sheathed his sword, looking down as the ebony blades of the swordsman. He took both and fastened them across his back, then picked up the battleaxe. They continued down the stone corridors, everyone was silent, Harald because he had nothing to say, the others because they were shocked, scared, or amazed respectively.

They came to another set of doors, Harald pushed them opened and stepped out into a waterlogged area, a wooden staircase lead up to the right. Another Deathlord stood on it, it saw them and rattled at them, Harald gave it its second death with his new axe. He didn't need to use the Hallows unless someone was in danger. They went up the stairs, following the passage round and a bridge across the room. Harald stopped Savos from stepping out onto another walkway just as he felt a build-up of energy from across the room. Setting the mage back down and ignoring the thanks for saving the Dunmer from a bolt of lightning he peered out at the scene. There was a small crystal hovering over a stone pillar. Harald nodded to Savos and the mage stepped out, more quickly this time and threw a fireball across the room. The explosion knocked the soul gem off of its pedestal. After that they went through a bridge with many bars around it and through another set of tunnels, there were few branching off, and the place way mostly linear, after this Harald came to a door.

"So," asked Siva to the silence, "Are we going to talk about what happened back there?"

"No." replied Harald.

Siva huffed, the rest of the group wisely stayed silent.

The portal opened to a larger chamber, the biggest they had come across since the original mine shaft. Climbing down an almost sheer drop and then up another Harald came to a large stone door, circular in shape and intricately carved. On both sides waterfalls came down from the surface, smashing around the stairs and forming a small river going along out of the cave. Two skeletons were across the foot of the stairs. Savos saw a leather-bound journal next to the foremost. He opened it and began reading aloud for the group."_'9 Second Seed 4E10: Looks like the miners broke right through the wall of an old Nordic barrow_', over a hundred years ago, he seems to have found a 'Bloodskal Blade' somewhere, look around for it."

The group did so, Harald eventually found it beside the stone platform, having most likely fallen down upon the scholar's death.

"'_The moment the blade was lifted, we were set upon by draugr' _Well of course you stupid human," Savos said to the skeleton, "You don't go messing about with obviously magical objects."

Harald went further forward to examine the door. It was a round door, made up of two partitions, cut roughly down the middle. Around it were other sections with carvings, at the bottom of the carvings there were red lines, seemingly cut into the rock, clearly magical.

"'_I'm fairly certain that the key to the door involves the use of the Bloodskal Blade. When swinging the weapon, I'm noticing a ribbon of mystical energy emanating from it. I think by swinging the sword in different directions, it's possible to manipulate this ribbon and solve whatever puzzle this door presents'" _Savos continued from the book, "Try swinging the sword in that direction, near the red line."

Harald took the suggestion, having just come to that conclusion himself and made a horizontal swing with the blade. A red crescent of energy came from the tip, flying forward at the door. The energy struck the line and the stone groaned, it rotated slowly until it matched another part of the carving like a jigsaw puzzle. Each time he swung the blade in a different arc the outer ring was driven higher up the circumference of the inner door. After several swings the carvings were all highlighted with the same energy that the original two had been and Harald took one last vertical swing, this opened the door entirely.

Beyond that was a series of swinging pendulums, each sharpened with blades. They sprinted past them in sequence, Haestan almost being bisected before Harald pulled him through. Finally they came to another room. Most of it was water; however right in front of them was a large and ornate chest. At the far end was another Word Wall, looking almost identical to the one in Saarthal. Harald felt drawn toward it, but stalked forward with the Bloodskal blade held at his side, Haestan went to the chest and opened it as the mages took up positions covering him.

"There's nothing here." He said flatly, patting the sides and bottom to check for false panels.

Suddenly there was a splash from in front of them, a tall figure in tattered robes erupted from the water, crackling with energy. He wore hooded robes with armour in a brown metal, but floated above the surface of the water.

The mages immediately threw spells toward it; Harald took a flying leap off the top of the steps, he knew he would land short, and even as he jumped the lich-creature glided backwards, but Harald wasn't trying to hit him with the sword, but with the energy waves that flew from it as he swept it down. The lich was staggered, whatever spell he was preparing interrupted before he would cast it. Harald swung again, the red energy was released again and crashed into the lich, fireballs and bolts of lightning came from behind him, all slamming into the lich. They harried him into a corner so that he couldn't float away and finally Harald seized him by the robes, pulling him down into the water hammering on the ornate mask that covered his face with the hilt of the Bloodskal Blade. The mages had ceased fire for fear of hitting him instead of the undead creature. He ripped off the mask, flinging it away, stepped back quickly and swung the blade down again. It cut through the thing's shoulder, digging deep into the reanimated body. The thing gave on last guttering gasp, then the light in its eyes faded and it died, turning to a pile of ash. Mixing with the water.

Haestan, who had no ranged capability and had not taken part in the battle jumped into the water, it reached to his waist as he started feeling round on the bottom for the mask. After a while he found it and brought it up.

"A Dragon Priest." He said in amazement, "You killed a Dragon Priest."

"A what?" asked Savos, sloshing into the water and taking the mask.

"In days of old, when dragons ruled the earth, there lived mortal men who worshipped the beasts as gods. I thought they were long since dead." Said Haestan.

"Well he is now." Remarked Siva, who had already began walking slowly through the water toward a door on the other side of the chamber.

"The mask." Said Harald, and caught it as Savos threw it to him, he put it into his satchel at his hip and climbed out of the water.

"Help me out with this." Asked Savos from behind him, Harald turned and saw Savos struggling to both move and hold his precious bag of papers from the office above his head. He hoisted the elf out by his robes and set him down.

"Thank you." Said the Dunmer , and helped his sister and Haestan up.

Seeing no need to prolong the inevitable Harald went to stand in the crescent, this time he didn't back away as the Song began in his head, he opened his arms to the light as it streamed into him. This time instead of feeling ice, he felt strength, it seemed that different walls had different meanings for the words on them. He particularly needed to find a person who knew the script, or a translation for it soon.

"What are you doing?" asked Haestan.

Harald turned, they were all looking at him.

"You don't see the light?" he asked perplexed.

"No we saw no light." Said Savos.

"Fair enough." Harald said, and they went on, he lead the way and tried the door, however it was locked and they could open it by neither force or cunning. So, feeling rather stupid and grumbling, they made their way back to the other side, seeking to retrace their steps. As they passed the trapped chest they noticed another passageway, leading off to the right. A long blue carpet, elaborately decorated, lead to a carved pedestal with a thick book on it. As Haestan reached out to look through it Savos grabbed his wrist.

"Don't touch it!" he hissed, "That is one of the Black Books of Hermaeus Mora!"

Haestan immediately took his hand away.

"It's a what?" asked Harald.

"The Daedric Prince of Knowledge, Hermaeus Mora created Black Books of forbidden knowledge to lure mortals into his realm." Explained Savos, looking both disgusted and intrigued by the artefact.

"Well we can't leave it here." Said Siva.

"Well, oh I don't know, I'm not an expert on Daedric Artefacts!" moaned Savos. "Wrap it up in something, just don't touch it with your hand."

Harald knew the perfect thing to carry it in. He summoned the Cloak, it drifted down into sight and onto his hand. The grey material shimmered softly in the light as he cast it about the book, then picked it up and wrapped the fabric further around it. He tied the remainder in a knot and dismissed the Cloak, taking the book with it back to wherever the Hallows went when he wasn't using them.

"Where did that come from?" asked Haestan at large, "And where did it go."

"Best not to ask I think." Said Savos, "We need to get up to the surface again anyway."

Harald agreed and mounted the winding spiral staircase in the room. They came to an iron door and pushed it open, emerging in a circular tunnel covered in places with moss. Harald pulled a chain that opened a door into a different cavern, they made their way through the room, avoiding the large spider webs and sneaking past a hibernating bear. Near the end of the barrow they felt a cold wind blowing in from the outside. They were all tired of the dark, damp underground and were happy to leave.

Pushing open the doors they came out into the light. Crossing a wooden bridge to a stone structure reminiscent of many of the forts in Skyrim they descended the tower. Harstan said that he recognised the landmark from their trip north and this stirred a similar memory in Harald's mind.

Savos pointed out several odd, squid like creatures that hovered above the ground, calling them 'Netches', the party ignored them and continued on. Rounding a forested mountain they came out on the ash covered southern half of Solstheim, this was the true Dunmer side, and they quickly made their way through, feet occasionally sinking into ash pits and the rest having to pull them out. They passed odd ruins of stone and saw the Bulwark and Raven Rock again.

The longships were gone, but Harald's crew on his dromond had stayed, they were watching the night outside, waiting for the Dunmer to try and reclaim the town. Harald hailed the boat and the crew hailed back, asking where he had been. They made their excuses and learnt that all the ebony and ice-steel was loaded into the hold, as well as many other things lying about that looked valuable. Harald congratulated the men and told them to shove off. However, given that the Dunmer had not yet come out Harald set Haestan to crew another of the dromonds in the harbour. As the _Fyrdraca _and the captured ship rowed out of the bay Harald gave the mages the order to burn the other ships, firstly as to prevent pursuit, and secondly to stop any retribution by the Dunmer.

The mages cast their spells, Savos more reluctantly than Siva who gleefully lobbed fireballs and bolts into the wooden panels. As they got out into the bay they briefly came under attack by arrows from Dunmer rushing out of the Bulwark, but most attempted to control the fires on the boats, or shook their fists in anger at the retreating raiders. Once they got out to sea Harald was alerted to a problem. The_ Fyrdraca_ was moving very slowly, it sat far in the water and its oars and sails were barely moving it. At this rate they would never reach Winterhold in a timely way, Harald made the mages send up a flare to call the faster and less laden captured dromond back.

Haestan called over for the problem and Harald asked him to bring his ship alongside so the _Fyrdraca _could unload some of its cargo on to the other ship. This was done quickly and Haestan came back over to the _Fyrdraca_, sending another man over to the other dromond to steer.

The dromonds set off again, Harald set down his weapons as he sat at the back of his dromond, under the awning that had been set up as they were in dock at Raven Rock. He removed his new weapons and examined them. He now had his steel sword which he normally held with a shielf, two ebony swords, curved at the tip and only single sided, he could wield one in each hand, as the Draugr he had killed them for had. Then the Bloodskal Blade, it was around three feet long, and he could hold it with a shield as well, or in two hands. He would have to eventually figure out how to carry his various weapons, he knew now he would probably abandon his steel sword, it was almost too small for him to hold comfortably anyway, yes, he would do that, and take instead his three new swords, perhaps a shield as well, we was unsure.

"Harald" the steersman called.

He looked around, Haestan was beckoning to him. He got up and went over to the back of the boat.

"You called?" he asked, leaning against the gunnel.

"I won't ask about anything that happened in the tomb, I have no wish for you to need to lie to me, but I was wondering how you were planning to divide the loot?" Haestan asked.

"How much to we have?" Harald asked after nodding at him in thanks for his silence.

"I sent a man below earlier, at least seven crates of the ice-steel, large crates at that, a rich amount of coin, as well as much gold and silver jewellery and ornaments." Haestan explained his eyes on the night sky to direct their course by starlight. "Of the ebony, many, many crates, over forty at least, my man says we cleared the store out in the mine."

"We are rich then." Harald said, seeing the grey hide of a dolphin swimming along by the oars dipping in an out.

"If we can sell it." Said Haestan, "I don't know where we can do that, certainly not in Winterhold."

"True, perhaps Solitude? The capital would have demand for it, especially since Raven Rock won't have any left. They can sell it on to the rest of the Empire. Or Whiterun."

"Whiterun?" asked Haestan taking his eyes off the stars and looking at the captain questioningly.

"Yes, the Gray-mane's have the best blacksmiths in all of Skyrim, and their alliance with the Battle-borns means they'll be able to buy from us." Harald explained, "Other places that might be able to buy would be particularly wealthy individuals around Markarth or Riften."

"Transport." Haetan pointed out.

"Solitude it is then, by ships, less chance of someone stealing it, we can hold an auction if we don't find a buyer."

Haestan nodded, seeing the logic. They stood in silence for a while longer, Harald taking a turn at the twin oars, Haestan directing him to starboard or port as accorded. After some time at this the Savos Aren made his way along the deck toward the stern. His sister was on the other ship, having transferred over with the others.

"Atmoran." He announced, standing with hands clasped behind his back.

"I have a name you know." Harald grumbled but gestured for him to speak.

"I must ask that you hand over the Black Book in the interests of the College." He said looking like he very much would prefer to be on the other boat.

"And I was just starting to like you." Replied Haestan.

"It belongs in the College." Insisted Savos.

"Because it's a book? Listen, when a man shows an interest in something, be it a trinket, a woman or even a book if his tastes go that way, you don't begrudge him it." Haestan explained slowly, "You should have seen it first, if he wanted to give it away he would have given it to you."

"I was in charge anyway." said Harald, "Therefore it's mine."

"But it's incredibly dangerous." Said Savos more quietly, his arguments crumbling.

"So am I." replied Harald, it was a good, arrogant reply, and though perhaps not the one Savos was expecting.

"But he has those axes, and you have three weapons! You only have two hands, why do you even need that many?" the elf exclaimed, indicating the matched ebony axes at Haestan's belt. "And you kept the mask from the Dragon Priest, and you got another ship, and you're probably going to take at least half of the ebony."

Harald had not actually noticed these, but complimented his second on his prize. "Captain and steersman's privilege." He said, hoping that such a thing existed.

"Also probably more like a quarter." Put in Haestan.

"Fine, but back to the book. You said you'd pay us, we'll take that." Said Savos, changing tact.

"I said I'd pay you in gold. Books were not mentioned in the original agreement, I will pay you, but in gold."

"But you know nothing of magic!"

"Don't I?" Harald asked enigmatically.

There was a silence, some of the rowers had even started to listen in. "Erm, no?" asked Haestan from behind the oar.

Harald smiled conspiratorially, then extended a hand, his skin shone like silver for a few seconds, becoming brighter, then it suddenly cut off and Harald's draconic Patronus whooshed out. It beat its spectral wings, flying above the waves. Patroni never made noise, a dog would not bark, a bird would not tweet, and a dragon would not roar. As one of the foremost experts on Patroni after his extensive use of them since the age of thirteen, he assumed this was because they had no solid form to disturb the air and make sound. The dragon swooped about, passing close to the ship to the alarm of the rowers, they all stopped and started in amazement.

"Go." Harald told it, and the dragon did, fading away into the air. "I like to think I know something of magic." He told the amazed Savos.


	6. Hitting the Books

Haestan steered them into Winterhold's port, it seemed the Dawnstar fleet had already departed, and three ships were unloading their cargo onto the dock, Nords carrying it to cranes and winches where it was brought up the cliff, or in the case of the heavier stuff, dragged along the ramps by stocky horses.

The dromonds docked, oars being lifted back against their rests and to the idle position. The Arens were the first ones off on both boats, happy to be on dry land again, the two elves embraced briefly, then walked off up the ramp, talking animatedly about their experiences on the separate boats.

Harald called the two crews together. When they had gathered he raised his voice above the wind to speak. "We've done well with this cargo lads," he called, "But what do we do with it now?" he asked them.

"Sell it!" someone called out.

"But where?" Haestan asked them.

They were silent at that, "The College?" put forward one, "The smith?" asked another.

"Aye, they'd take some," Harald continued, "But we have two whole holds full of it, now, we can either divide it up immediately and compete with each other to sell it to the people who we know here in Winterhold, or we can take sail again in a few days to Solitude, and sell it there." He called.

There were grumbles at that, but most saw the sense in his words. They agreed at length to sell the cargo at the capital, sailing in a week. Harald happily jumped down and taking his new weapons, a wrapped bundle, a large bag of gold and the Dragon Priest mask, he went off to one of the cranes, signalling the operator at the top to haul away, then pulling him swinging up the cliff face. Once he reached the top he nodded to the man, then made off for the Jarl's longhouse. Then making his way inside he skirted the fire pit in the centre and went before the Jarl's throne.

The courtiers buzzed at his appearance there, whereas the Housecarls looked enviously at his new weapons. He bowed in front of Kjark.

"Thane Harald." Greeted Kjark, staying true to his promise, the courtiers buzzed again.

"My Jarl." Replied Harald, he was bound to the Hold now that he had acknowledged and accepted the position.

"We thought you lost." Said Kjark, they had left him behind, but Kjark had at least let the dromond stay, so he hadn't really abandoned Harald.

"Only for a brief time, the mine came out a mile or so north, we had to hike the rest of the way." Said Harald with a smile. He held the wrapped bundle out, "You left too quickly, and missed some of the best stuff." He said jokingly.

Kjark took the package and untied the strings, when the wrappings fell away the Jarl uncovered a beautifully crafted ebony battleaxe, glinting in the firelight. The Jarl sat amazed.

"I was hoping that you might let be have one of the captured dromonds, I'm planning a trip to Solitude to sell my cargo." He said nonchalantly. On a good day the weapon might be worth a ship, but Harald was being very sneaky here, once a ship was given it was his in perpetuity, and everything on it. Furthermore, he had not mentioned the other ship he had liberated from Raven Rock, meaning if the Jarl gave him another ship he could claim both it, and one of the ones from the Dunmer raiders before.

"Yes, yes, of course, good work." Muttered Kjark, mesmerised by the weapon.

Harald smiled and walked off, eager to get a full accounting of the cargo. In the next few hours he recorded his assets at three ships, tentatively the city of Saarthal, which he could claim as a Thane of Winterhold, on the grounds that he was an 'Atmoran' and it was an Atmoran city. Then there were his armour, two ebony swords, the Bloodskal Blade, the Dragon Priest mask, the Black Book, Haestan, tentatively the Arens and his crew, whom would most likely follow him if he persuaded them, fifty three crates of ebony ore and ingots, not all of which were his, assorted riches in gold and jewels, again, not all of which were definitely his, he would have to share out some with the crew. The pouch still nestling in his breastplate containing a dozen rubies and sapphires, and six boxes of the ice-steel, which at the moment was a mere curiosity. Harald walked whistling back down the road to his home, burying his treasure in the floor and folding a dozen steel rods around it so no one might steal it. Then he went to sleep, he was quite tired.

The next day, sitting in his corner sipping a most refreshing beverage he had discovered called 'Nord Mead' (which was apparently banned in five provinces) that tasted of ice and mint he overheard a conversation.

"A crescent like the horns of a bull, made up with scratches all over it," came the voice from across the tavern, "then some great winged beast leaning over it."

"What's this Yorik?" he asked the storyteller as he drew up a stool.

"Thane Harald," the man nodded to him, "Just saying about my little trip up into the mountains. You might be interested actually, if what I heard happened in Solstheim is true" Yorik was well known to make 'trips' into other Holds to poach deer, it was his way around the ban on poaching in Winterhold that had been imposed. "So I was after a wolf, it gave be the slip and went up a mountain, went after it, came to the top and saw this big wall."

"Yes, you told about the wall get on with the story." Said the others around the table.

"Well that's it really, saw a big wall, got the wolf, made me self a coat." Said Yorik taking a swig from his mug.

There was some grumbling at the anti-climax, but Harald was intrigued, this wall sounded similar to the one he had found at Saarthal that gave him the unusual feeling of ice and the one under Raven Rock that seemed to give him strength.

"Where was this?" he asked.

"Ah well I can't be telling ya that can I?" replied Yorik, tapping the side of his nose, then he leant in and whispered conspiratorially, "You take a look down in the Pale and there are whole packs of them." He said with a wink.

"No, I don't care about the wolf, where was the wall?" Harald asked again.

"Oh," the man said disappointedly, "Mount Anthor I reckon, or there abouts, you wanting to see it?"

Harald did not know where that was, "Can you take me there?" he asked.

Yorik paused, "Aye, aye I can do that, but what's it worth to you?" he asked having set down his mug.

"Ten silver pennies."

"When you wanting to be setting out?"

"Tomorrow." Replied Harald setting down the amount, then walked out before his guide could argue, he made his way briskly down the road to the temporary barracks to make his excuses to the townspeople, this done he made a circuit of the town to work of some of his excitement and turned in for the night.

The next day dawned clear and crisp, Harald thought it was excellent traveling weather, and he met Yorik at the towns outskirts, refusing to pay him before they reached the mountain they set off. It took two days to even reach the Pale because of the large snowdrifts that were thrown up across the valleys in between the mountains, but eventually they reached the slope of Mount Anthor. Harald was pleased with their time, Yorik not so much, the man wanted to continue poaching as they went wasting precious time.

As they climbed a steep path Harald thought he caught singing from Yorik striding a few metres ahead of him.

"What are you singing?" he shouted above the wind.

"Song of the Dragonborn."

"What that?" Shouted back Harald, getting goosebumps along his arms.

"You haven't heard of the Dragonborn?" Asked Yorik incredulously, slowing down so they drew level.

"No, I just don't know the word."

"Ah, Atmoran, I forgot," said Yorik nodding, "Well maybe you remember the words? Most people do, I trained at the Bard's College if you'll believe it, but there are many different names for the song." He cleared his throat. "Now where was I? Chorus. Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin, Wah dein-"

"Oh, that song, right, know what you mean now." Said Harald quickly, he didn't want the Song to start up in his head again. They trudged on for a few more minutes. "Remind me what a Dragonborn is?" he asked, "My father's bard was a boring man so I didn't listen to him and we had no skald."

"The Dragonborn," said Yorik, climbing over a fallen tree trunk, "was a mortal with the blood of a dragon, who could use the great power of the Voice, like the Greybeards, up in High Hrothgar. They could instinctively understand the language of dragons."

The language of dragons eh?

Harald thought after that revelation it was best not reveal his incident with the two Word Walls under Saarthal and Raven Rock, and thought it best to get rid of Yorik before he found him out. He still had the mask from the Dragon Priest and the strange black book in his house in Winterhold, maybe they were related.

"That the 'wall'?" he asked, pointing up to the mountain to a barely to be seen area where the rock turned black rather than the surrounding grey.

"You can see it from here?"

"Yes."

"Must have good eyes, but aye, somewhere up there, shouldn't be able to miss it, follow the path, if it starts to curve back down you've gone too far, there's an overhand that you have to go under." Explained Yorik.

"Well I think I can make it from here then." Said Harald, "Twenty pennies was it?" he asked, digging the amount out and deliberately overpaying the man so he didn't think so much about why Harald wanted to find the wall.

After Yorik had departed Harald made his way up the slope again, using his 'Banisher Jump' to get up the slop far faster than walking. He also had the idea of applying a sticking charm to his hands to help the climbing, when he put his hand down it would apply and when he wanted to take another hold it would deactivate. He was becoming quite adept at changing the internal conditions of his body, he could float in heavy armour and almost glide off of cliffs by reducing his weight. Back on Earth he had found out how Voldemort and Snape flew in their 'wraith forms' and could fly himself, it was an odd experience, however brooms were faster and more comfortable so he didn't use it much, notably, he didn't seem to be able to replicate it on Mundus, but he was hopeful.

Harald ducked under the overhang that Yorik had mentioned, his head brushing icicles that hung down in the cold. He turned right at a stone obelisk and walked down a short slope, his boots crunching the in the freshly fallen snow, the whole north of Skyrim was rarely not covered in freshly fallen snow, but somehow the Nords coped well.

He turned left at another obelisk and walked up a long set of stairs up to the Wall.

This one was ascetically identical apart from the writing from the other ones he had seen, it was covered in snow, but the blue light still shone out as he approached it. He brushed the snow away from the glowing word and let the light enter him. This was his third wall and was the easiest so far, the light was still forceful, but more like an overexcited horse than a rhino charging into him. Like the others he felt what he now recognised as vaguely draconic emotions, his desire for domination increased, as well as his need to fly, but as he didn't in fact have wings, this was impossible. He had done some research on the dragons and their language in general, it was very interesting, he wanted to get at the Ysmir Collective in the library at the College though, that would have much more information.

The dragons actually used 'Shouts' to breathe fire and suchlike, which seemed unusual, but Harald moved on, the dragons had enslaved humans, for some reason, one wouldn't expect them to need many servants for anything. It wasn't as if they used all their hoarded gold and riches. If he was a dragon he'd get into investment banking.

Anyway, dragons used Shouts to do things however, eventually Kyne, the god of nature, compelled one dragon in particular, who's name apparently no one knew, to teach mortals the Voice. These people were known as 'Tongues' and rebelled against the dragons. The Dragons were killed and buried and men were victorious.

Dragonborn on the other hand were naturally able to speak the Dragon language, having not spoken to any experts Harald didn't know what the Word Walls and him had in common to make him be able to sense the writing when no one else could see them.

He walked up to the bridge guarding the College, there was usually one of the mages, just standing around outside, this one was an Altmer, who escorted him inside the College. As his fame had grown in the Hold even those recluses in the College had been brought word of him. The Arch-Mage wanted to interview him about Atmoran magic, as well as his Patronus, which he had apparently heard about. Luckily the Arens hadn't mentioned the Black Book, which Harald was thankful for, but the interview was still very tedious, he didn't remember the Arch-Mage's name ever a few minutes after the man had introduced himself. Inside the chief wizard's quarters was an odd glowing table. Harald asked about it.

"An Arcane Enchanter, do you not use them in Atmora?" the mage replied.

Harald told him that they did not, and asked to examine it; he was permitted to do so, and upon looking at the device and asking a few questions about it he defined is purpose and tried an enchantment on it. It worked. Harald contained his excitement, the table seemed to act as a miniature version of the Eye of Magnus, collecting the latent magical energy from the material universe. More importantly, this meant that whenever Harald needed to fundamentally change or enhance an object's properties on the molecular level, or 'enchant' to the layperson, he need only gain access to this device, or another like it.

This did not solve the problem of spells fizzling out as they travelled further; this continued to occur with all his spells, granting a few exceptions like the Patronus, which was unique in any case. However, it did solve his problem with the lack of items he could use that he might normally. For instance, when the Mage's back was turned he whispered '_ignoretur extensio' _and '_autem pondus penna_' to the small pouch at his belt, expanding it on the insider and making it very light. He used words in this to guide the enchantment, giving his mind focus to cast the spell. Then he put the Bloodskal Blade on his back in the pouch, as well as one of the ebony blades. Leaving him much lighter. He wouldn't change the weight of the weapons, as that changed the mass, and therefore the force at which they hit, making them less effective, however he might try to permanently sharpen them to a fractal edge, making it incredibly sharp, capable of cutting even stone.

The Arch-Mage thanked him for his time and gave him a standing invitation to return, obviously hungry for more knowledge about purportedly 'Atmoran' magic. Harald descended the tower to the library below. The current librarian had recently died, possibly by Siva's magic, and they had not yet found a replacement, many of the book cases were locked but by just placing a hand against the lock and indicating his desire for them to open the doors unlocked for him.

Without witnesses he could fully utilise his immense speed and processing power to read far faster, he blurred about the room, reading most of the useful or important looking books in the place in around three days, locking the door of the library so no-one else could get in. After this he had an immense headache and knew he would have to sleep soon to properly absorb the information, shutting off unnecessary areas of the brain during sleep to learn faster. He tore several books to pieces by turning their pages to enthusiastically, and one caught fire because of the heat generated by the friction but he threw them out the window into the sea, no one would miss them.

One interesting thing he had uncovered was the mystery of the amulet from Saarthal. It was in his store now, as it seemed fragile and he was an active man and didn't want to damage it in battle. One book mentioned the wizard 'Gauldur', given that the Writ of Sealing he had found on 'Jyrik Gauldurson' mentioned crimes, Harald thought that this was one of the sons of the great wizard who had coveted his magic necklace. Perhaps he would piece together the three fragments, another day anyway.

The next day after a solid eighteen hours of sleep he was ready to return. He wanted to find the Arens again to speak with them. After receiving directions he made his way to the 'Hall of Attainment', opening the double door he walked around an odd glowing blue fountain of energy and toward a staircase, at the top there was a wide circle of single room cells, a bed and a few bookcases or a stand. The Arens were in their respective rooms, Savos reading and comparing the notes and books he had found in Raven Rock mine while Siva was lolling about on the bed, looking thoroughly bored.

"Found anything useful?" he asked as he walked in.

"Nothing much." Replied Savos not looking up, "mostly import records." Then he looked up, "Oh. It's you." Siva looked much more pleased to see him, most likely knowing that they might at any moment run off on an adventure.

"I wanted to continue our conversation from the other day." Said Harald leaning against the door post.

Savos put down his book, eyes on Harald.

"I wanted to offer the pair of you a permanent position at my side, you'll be the two I got to first for advice on magic, as well as primary spellcasters." He offered.

"Will we get to kill things?" asked Siva, her ears perking up.

"It will be most likely, I tend to annoy people."

"Siva you're such a brute." Admonished Savos but kept listening.

Harald smiled, "There will be opportunities for research and study along the way,"

"We have commitments to the College, to our studies." Savos said, though he looked tempted.

"The Arch-Mage wants to know about my magic, I'm sure he'll let you get away as a favour to me." Harald reassured him.

"And magical artefacts?" asked Savos, not mentioning the one they were all thinking about in case of listeners.

"I will have the final word on anything." Said Harald, then held up a hand to forestall their Savos' objections, "But most of it will be of little interest to me, and therefore yours, as will any historical information we come across, and the name on any research." He said.

Savos looked much happier at that, but still not sold on the idea.

"Gold?" Siva asked.

"A percentage of the profits, depending on your efforts."

"They do say it's good to get out of the College." Said Savos half to himself.

"Deal." Said Siva for him. Savos threw his hands in the air, but agreed.

"Excellent, come to my home later, someone can give you directions, I would like you opinion on the examination of a certain book." Harald said with a significant look.

The proto-Nord departed, taking the long bridge down to Winterhold proper. The Arens were certainly powerful, but very inexperienced; Savos had told him earlier that they had been apprentices only for a decade or so, which was apparently the customary length of time for the introductory period to magic.

As the College was primarily home to elves, who lived far longer than men, the curriculum was geared toward elves, a less intensive study period over a longer period and with greater focus on the actually understanding of knowledge rather than learning by rote.

He compared it to the only other school of magic he knew, Hogwarts' teaching only took seven years, and students rarely learnt anything new of magic beyond that, going out to work in the wide world. Harald had studied more himself. He employed a man to make him money, a squib who had been a muggle banker and made him at least eight present profit annually. He had used that money to buy books for the most part, always learning more.

The snow was light today, happily so, he went a brought ink and paper from a shop, then continued home. His house was not a large one, having only a bed, table to sit at, and chest to store his possessions. However, given that he was more usually at the Jarl's hall, or in a tavern, his home was only a place to sleep in. He went to the bed and lifted it, propping it up with his back as he dug in the rushes and packed earth on the floor. After a few minutes of this he brought out his strongbox. Some men relied on the nature of the box itself to keep out thieves, but Harald knew there were skilled lockpickers in Skyrim, especially Riften, which was a hive of thieves, so he buried his wealth.

As he levered the chest out he brought it to the table again. He would need to acquire his own Arcane Enchanter, from somewhere, or possibly go back to Saarthal. The use of the College device would be too dangerous, and it was limited in his usage of it. Casting two spells drained it of its power, thought the Arch-Mage had mentioned 'Soul Gems' which were apparently the power source one used to create magical items.

From the chest be brought out several ebony ingots, the pouch of gems, and his other miscellaneous items, for instance a few potions he had brought in case he was ever seriously injured. These he put in his new pouch, when each item reached the threshold it warped and changed shape, then was sucked into the small bag. Then Harald wrote out a list of all the items in the pouch, shaking the ink every few seconds to stop it from solidifying in the cold. He placed this list in the bag should he ever need an inventory. Whenever he placed his hand in the pouch it would bring up whatever he was thinking about at the time, so if he was paying for something at a shop, it would bring out the required amount of gold, and if he wished for a weapon, one of his swords.

Leaving some of the money in the strongbox he replaced it under the bed and sat at the table, considering events. He now had a small fleet of his own and was Thane of a Hold, which would make sailing into Solitude much easier, not having to make up excuses about where he acquired the shipment. However, he would wait for a couple of months for the supply to dry up in northern Tamriel, which would increase the price exponentially. Having promised to set sail in a week he thought it best to go inform Haestan that this would not in fact be happening, he quickly went out and found his steersman and got him to tell the other crew members, then went back home again. Waiting outside his house he found the Arens. They followed him in Siva making for the bed and lounging on it, catlike. Savos leant against the doorpost while he took the chair.

"You mentioned a book?" asked Savos, straight to business, Harald knew Dark Elves did not like the cold, most staying in their heated rock houses or the College.

Harald held out a hand, the Cloak wrapped Book dropped into it. He put it on the table. Savos advanced, untied the knots and inspected the artefact. The cover was black, and appeared to be made of a leather of some kind, Harald asked what it was.

"Skin, traditionally." Remarked Savos.

"Distasteful." Replied Harald.

Embossed in the front cover was a circular mass of curves line, looking like a large octopus spread out. Savos indicated that this was representative of Hermaeus Mora.

"Read it then." Siva complained from the bed.

"I have no wish to be sucked into Oblivion." Said Savos, retreating to his doorpost, "Those who read the forbidden knowledge of the Black Books are transported to Hermaeus Mora's realm of Apocrypha, besides, you're far more prepared for that." He said, looking at Harald.

Seeing the logic in this Harald stood, readied his sword, checked he had his pouch, and took off his gloves. Then he opened the book, reading aloud the page.

"_During the reign of Elgryr I took notice the various patterns of in the thoughts of behaviours of a troubled populace, and undertook a humble plan to comprehend and, in the end, affect them. Being of ordered mind, I began my taxonomy in the lower classes, which divide evenly into those who…_"

Nothing seemed to happen, however the pages began to glow green, and the words lifted off the page, circling around his neck, the words solidified into tentacles, wrapping round his neck, he heard a shout from Savos, and felt his air running out, then everything went black.

* * *

Harald awoke seemingly seconds later, he was lying on a cold floor, and could hear a bubbling and rustling around him. He opened his eyes, coming slowly to his feet and looked about him. He was on an island of books, surrounded by a sea of viscous green bubbling liquid, before him an arch, again made of books, bound tightly together, their pages fluttering in a wind. The floor was littered with pages written in many languages, torn out of their binding and scattered about.

**I do not know you mortal.** Came a deep, melodious voice, echoing in his head.

Harald drew his sword, looking for the origin of the voice. Over the island a swirling wretched mass of tentacles was hovering, beyond that was tower, partly made again from books, but partly from tentacles, writing and reforming as they went.

"Well someone's been reading Lovecraft." Harald said.

**I know not what you speak mortal, perhaps you are a disciple of Sheogorath, but you have entered by realm without my devising it. **Said the voice from the tentacles.

"This isn't yours then?" Harald asked, waving the Black Book at the mass.

**The Winds of Change, how did you conceal it from me? **The voice asked, its voice becoming slightly strained, apparently the Hallows could hide things from Daedric princes. Harald didn't know whether to consider the mass an enemy yet, it was no doubt Hermaeus Mora, the Daedra that Savos had talked about but it hadn't made any aggressive moves yet. The mass continued, **This is Apocryoha, where all knowledge is hoarded. Sate your thirst for knowledge in the endless stacks of my library. **

"Some Knowledge is not meant to be known." Harald replied, if he started reading now, he would probably never stop. "And Knowledge does not equal understanding." He jumped back as a tentacle emerged from the slime and slapped down on the path. It receded when he retreated, sliding back into the bubbling toxins.

**True, mortal, a better answer than most **said the voice, **but you arrive too soon, the Last Dragonborn is not meant to face the First before the Prophecy is fulfilled. **

Harald walked up to a set of stairs, surrounded by a platform, evading three other tentacles. The mass of tentacles descended to eye level, some of them forming a face and mouth. It reminded him of many of the later science fiction films he had seen. The controlling Machine in the Matrix particularly.

"I'm Dragonborn?" he asked, he had his own suspicious, but no proof.

**Indeed** said the mouth, the 'lips' moving but the voice still echoing in his head. **But you are also something else, a variable I had not calculated**

"And what will you do about it?" Harald asked.

**Events will progress, I will warn the others, you will be a force for change, ironic that you were brought here by the Winds of Change. **A tentacle shot out, tapping the cover of the Black book as a person would tap with a finger. Apparently that was the name of the book, he had seen no title page. The force grew silent but continued to hover near him. Harald continued up into the tower, a tentacled and robed monster emerged from a pool of sludge, charging spells and attacking him. Harald cut it to pieces with his sword, the ebony slicing through its 'mouth' and arms. It deflated, spraying ink everywhere.

He continued on, picking up small gems and other items as he went along, he came to a courtyard, a large pool of the black slime in between two sets of stairs. As he neared it another monster, this one looking like a bipedal deep sea animal, a large mouth full of teeth and a face of ridges and eyes, it roared at him, long tentacles flying from its mouth to wrap around his sword arm. He awkwardly hacked at the tentacles, feeling tiny harpoons ink into his skin, injecting its black bile into him. He transferred the sword to his left hand and waded into the pool, hacking at the tentacles and at the monster. It died quickly and sunk into the pool. Harald collected some more of the purple gems, taking one black one and took the stairs up to a pedestal, he saw a large version of the Black book on it, its pages opened and its text passing around the pages, odd characters and words in long lines. He found the book was giving him a choice between what knowledge it could give him. One would make him better at selling items to the opposite sex and fighting them, useless as most societies at this point were patriarchal, one would prevent him from harming his friends with spells, also useless since he wouldn't anyway, and one would aid him in absorbing knowledge from books. He took the Scholar's Insight, poking a green orb to indicate his choice.

**A good choice** echoed the voice from behind him, **I will return you to Mundus, I will be watching you Dragonborn, you will return to my realm, it is your fate.**

Tentacles shot out of the book, drawing him in and he came to this time looking up at the concerned faces of the Arens, Savos holding a knife hesitantly.

"I'm back, calm down." He groaned, pushing himself up on his elbows, seeing the Black Book had vanished.

"We weren't sure what happened." Explained Savos, putting the knife away.

"Went to Apocryoha, chatted with Hermaeus Mora, read a book, got back." Summarised Harald, taking a swig from a cup of water Siva had poured him.

"You spoke with a Prince?" Asked Savos in amazement.

"He, well, it, manifest itself as a large purple mass of tentacles. Told me about how I was an unforeseen variable, then sent me back here." Said Harald, excluding the part about him being Dragonborn, he didn't want to reveal that yet.

"Did he say anything else?" asked Siva.

"That he would see me again."

"Ominous."

The Arens quizzed him on the Prince's Realm, and Harald described it to the best of his ability, talking about the strange creatures he fought and the tentacles and toxins that made up Apocryoha.

The next day Harald turned up at the Aren's rooms, "Need your help."

"What about?" Siva asked, setting down her book and following.

"We're looking for a book."

"What kind of book?"

"Anything that mentions prophecies or dragons," at their looks he clarified, "Something Mora said."

Breaking into the Library was easy, the lock clicking as Harald touched the door. They went in and split up, throwing any relevant books into the middle of the round room, much to Savos' annoyance and despite his protests. Eventually they gathered all the seemingly appropriate books in the place, and sat down on the chairs looking through the texts.

"I have _An Accounting of the Scrolls_ here," said Siva after a searching, "It has a foot note about the Akaviri Dragonguard."

"Put it in the pile." Instructed Harald.

"_Atlas of Dragons?" _asked Savos, holding up a book.

"Pile."

"_Children of the Sky_"

"What's it about?" asked Harald

"Something called the 'Thu'um'"

"Put it on the pile."

"'_For as I observed the walls I found, I noticed something peculiar about some of the words. It was as if they pulsed with a kind of power, an unknown energy that, if unlocked, might be harnessed by the reader.'" _Read Savos from an aged tome balanced on his knees. "Was that what you were doing under Raven Rock?" he asked, looking up at Harald.

"I was." He replied guardedly.

"Your Dragonborn." Savos said quietly, smiling.

Harald was silent, then nodded, "How did you guess?" he asked.

"Your interest in ancient Nordic ruins, your standing in front of the Wall under Solstheim, this book talking about the Dragon Language." Said Savos, reeling of a list.

"What is it?" asked Harald, holding out his hand for the text.

Savos passed '_Dragon Language: Myth no More' _to him and he began reading, this must have been one of the books he had missed in his initial search.

"I have _Kolb and the Dragon_ here." Put in Siva helpfully.

"That is a children's story book."

"It's about Dragons!" Siva defended.

Harald was oblivious to their quarrels, continued to read the book on dragon language, if he studied this, and perhaps went back to a word wall and transcribed it, perhaps he could learn the language. He recognised the second passage from the Wall in Saarthal, he saw the pattern of scratches and the word 'Ice' was forever stamped into his memory since he had 'absorbed' the light. But now he wondered, did he only have the understanding of nouns? Like 'Ice'? Why had he not learnt the word for 'withering' or 'combat' instead. He would have to visit more of these 'Word Walls', he was certain it was linked to being Dragonborn.

"_Olaf and the Dragon_ _or The Dragon War_?" asked Siva after he had set the book down.

"Both, try to find _Twin Secrets_" Harald told her.

"What's that?" asked Savos.

"A book detailing a battle between an enchanter and a dragon." He told the elf.

They worked through the pile for another hour, discounting many of the books and only keeping the most helpful or relevant, frequently cross referencing the information in the texts with each other. Eventually they had around twenty books left, the rest having been discarded as useless or untrue.

"So, Dragonborn." Asked Siva, "I assume we're going on a trip soon?" she asked.

"I am, are you coming along?" Harald asked them in return.

Savos, seeing the look on his sister's face, gave up, "Fine, fine, where to then?"

"In a few months, you're coming with me to Solitude," Harald told them, "where we'll sell the ebony and the rest of the stuff from Raven Rock, and perhaps pick up any rumours about Word Walls around there. Then on to Whiterun, I want to see this Numinex, after, south to Pale Pass, Cloud Ruler Temple and the Blades, I'll need to speak with them about the Prophecy of the Dragonborn, Hermaeus Mora seemed to think it significant."

"Taking at least six months, at the fastest." Savos said, "You know Mora's manipulating you?" He asked, face shadowed in his floating Magelight.

"No," said Harald sarcastically, "I am entirely trusting a demon who chooses to appear as a writhing mass of tentacles."

"Well…good." Savos said.

"That's my year planned out." Said Siva brightly.

Harald smiled. He had maybe nine months to spare, then they would set out, his ships would be unusable until then, given he could not safely remove the ebony from them, or rather, he could, but some of the crew would no doubt object to their shares of it suddenly and mysteriously disappearing.

"Well then," he said, beginning to stack the books back in their appropriate places, "To the future."


	7. You Are Not Alone

The day dawned bright and glorious across the snowy view.

Harald was sitting on a corner of the Shrine of Azura, the wind was gentle, the temperature cool but not cold and the ground hard. Growing bored once more of Winterhold he had agreed to accompany Siva to the shrine of her people, a mile or so south of Winterhold and high in the mountains, she woke him before dawn and in the gray twilight they made their way up into the mountains. Siva carried a bundle of supplies for the priest there, a young Dunmer named Aranea Ienith.

Harald being uncomfortable going close to any Daedra by principle (the Hallows forced one to be an atheist) he wandered to the east side of the mountains. He was thinking about making a trip south, Savos was being boring and insisting that he had work to do and Haestan was visiting a young lady friend he had met in Dawnstar so Harald was stuck kicking his heels in Winterhold.

Across out over the sea he could see the College to his left, then the diverse archipelago of icy islands and the snow downs and bluffs, heaps of the white powder blown down off the mountains where it collected. It had taken him half an hour to climb to his perch, his sticking charms applied to his hands not working because they just stuck to the snow. He could just see the White River's mouth, opening out of the Hold of Eastmarch, seat of the Stormcloaks and city of Ysgramor.

Little altocumulus clouds covered the otherwise blue sky.

Harald heard a whistle from being him, he turned in his seat, careful not to fall off the mountain. Siva was waving at him, the priestess standing next to her. The sun had not yet crested the highest peaks and they were backlit in an orange glow.

The statue of Azura was frankly magnificent, standing fifty feet tall, on top of a mountain, the amount of effort that must have gone into it mindboggling, for refugees, their homes lost to a natural disaster, traveling hundreds of miles and settling in an alien land.

He leant back and slid down the slippery rock, pressing his right arm down so that he rotated, then he slip to a halt at the bottom of the slope, bouncing smarty to his feet in front of the elves.

"Thane Harald, the man I was telling you about." Siva explained to the priestess, indicating Harald.

"Reasonably interested to meet you." Replied Harald honestly.

"Would you be the one that sails on the Winds of Change and who holds mastery over Death?" Ienith asked.

"Indeed I would be." Said Harald, feeling like he was being inducted into the Illuminati or something.

"I saw you in my dreams, My Lady has held great interest in you since she was informed of you presence" the priestess said, looking strangely at him.

"I assume you mean Azura?" Harald asked, it seemed Hermaeus Mora had gotten around quickly, it had only been two months and it seemed the Daedric Lord had passed to at least one other Plane of Oblivion, perhaps more.

Ienith nodded. "But you must leave; she says it is not yet the time." The priestess nodded to Siva, then went back to the shrine.

"Suppose we'll be going then?" Harald asked as he walked back to the eastern edge of the mountaintop.

"What did you do?" asked Siva, looking both confused and angry.

"Nothing, but apparently something, in the temporal sense." Harald answered.

"What are you rambling about now?"

"I am somewhat of a magnet for momentous events." Harald admitted, his hands drawing in the snow.

"Such as?" asked the elf, watching the play of his fingers.

"Say only that, I live in interesting times." Harald said, drawing a last line on his picture.

Siva was silent for a moment, her god had just spoken almost directly to the man sitting next to her, she was no doubt confused. "What is that?" she asked, nodding to the picture. In the snow was the symbol for the Hallows.

"There were once three brothers." Harald said after a while, "they were wizards of great renown, and once traveling at night they came to a river to wide to cross. But being powerful in magic they waved their wands and a bridge appeared."

"Wands?" asked Siva sceptically.

"Staves," corrected Harald, not thinking that semantics made much of a difference.

"As they crossed they were stopped by Death Himself."

"Arkay?" interrupted Siva again.

"Possibly, anyway, Death felt cheated that they had not drowned and pretended to congratulate them, for he was a cunning liar." Harald was getting into the flow, remembering the day in the Lovegood's house where he first heard the full story, "Death offered them each a magic item. The first brother wished for a wand of unsurpassable power, so Death broke off a branch of an Elder tree and fashioned it into a wand more powerful than any in existence." Harald stroked the first line in the snow, brushing away fresh snow that had fallen in it. Siva watched his had move, listening carefully, "The second brother who was arrogant wished to humiliate Death even further, and wished to have the power to bring loved ones from the grave; Death then took a stone from the riverbed and created for him the Resurrection Stone, a stone capable of bringing the dead back to the living world." Harald traced the circle, "But the third brother, who was a humble man, and perhaps the wisest of all three, did not trust Death, and asked for something that would keep him hidden from Death, so Death gave him his cloak of invisibility." He finally made the triangle around the other two symbols. "When one carries all three of the Deathly Hallows one becomes Master of Death."

Siva looked sceptical, but amazed anyway, "And Azura is Mistress of Life, that is why she has such 'interest' in you."

"Most probably, you have already seen the Cloak and the Stone after all." Harald said, obliterating the sign with a sweep of his hand.

"What happened to the brothers?" Siva asked.

"The first boasted of his unparalleled Wand in a tavern, and it was stolen as he slept and his throat cut, the second, using the Stone, drew forth the shade of his lost love, but realised soon that it was but pale imitation of her, in the end he killed himself so he could join her."

"And the third?"

"The third lived a long life, using the cloak to remain hidden from Death till he was an old, old man, he passed the Cloak on to his son, and when Death came for him, he greeted it as an old friend, and went with him into the next world." Harald said quietly, the fate of the third brother always made him morose, it seemed to him like Ignotus, his own ancestor, had surrendered to Death after conquering him. He accepted his fate. Perhaps he was being too harsh, whilst the only think Harald feared was oblivion, nothingness, Ignotus had gone to his afterlife. But being Master of Death meant that one understood that even that was fleeting. At least the other two had had a hand in their deaths, choosing when they died, though perhaps Antioch would disagree.

"Could I see my mother?" Siva asked suddenly.

"She is with you." Harald replied, it was true, since he began the conversation he had seen shades gathering, swirling around them, the Hallows brought down the barriers between Life and Death, and sometimes spirits came through. One shade, a tall, aristocratic Dunmer woman, old and proud stood a few paces behind Siva. But he needed the name to call her.

"What was her name?" he asked quietly.

"Tabinah Aren." Said Siva, her red eyes watering.

"Tabinah Aren." Repeated Harald, turning the Ring that had materialised on his hand again.

The Dunmer woman knelt by her daughter, touching her shoulder, a smile graced her features; she lifted one silver hand to the pointed chin of her daughter, lifting her chin up. They sat like this for a few more seconds, then Tabinah stood again, letting her hand slip away from her daughter's.

"Mother…" Siva whispered pleadingly.

The spirit gave a calculating look to Harald, but then nodded once like a hawk and stepped back into the vortex, joining the others swirling around.

Harald went and sat by Siva, crying quietly, her normal passive aggression gone.

"She is still with you." He repeated, taking her hand and raising her head, "And you are not alone."


	8. Warmth in the Cold

_So pretty amazed at getting 1800 views in a day, seemed appropriate to write another chapter today. Thanks everyone, had some particularly helpful feedback from some people, this chapter should answer some of their issues. _

_Mark: I'll admit the first chapter was a little rough, it was really just for setting up the Skyrim introduction and I didn't take that much time over it, pleased you think the later chapters are better. I've tried to address some of the things you talked about in your review, the characterization will be on-going, didn't know id skipped out on it, sorry._

* * *

They sat in companionable silence for some time after that, but eventually Harald pulled Siva up and they made their way down the mountain. Harald used his natural charm and wit to cheer the elf up, making comical observations about Skyrim's people.

"That's another thing." He said as they passed the smithy on their way back into Winterhold. "Everyone wear's these horns on their helmets and no-one tried to grab them in combat, I mean, one might assume that you don't put any easily grabable things on your armour but apparently no-one tries it." Siva didn't laugh outright, but she did smile.

Briefly stopping at the tavern for a quick drink they sat down at a table, calling the barman over and ordering.

"Did you have any more plans for the rest of the day?" asked Harald, sipping his mead.

Siva shook her head.

"It's just that I was thinking about going down into Windhelm, just for the day." Continued Harald, he had heard there were several different ancient Nordic tombs in the area and wanted to investigate them for Word Walls, he felt that if he learnt more he might understand what the 'Dragonborn' was more. Sometimes in battle, or anytime when he was in a dangerous or exciting situation he would feel a burning in his throat, similar to if one had inhaled dust and was about to cough. The books they read in the College's library were informative on the theory of the Voice, but not on the practice, they referred to an ancient order of monks living in the temple High Hrothgar on the Throat of the World, the tallest mountain in Tamriel.

Siva immediately agreed, Harald knew not to try and persuade her not to join him, he knew that nothing good came from making other people's decisions for them, and so they set off after their drinks on the eastern road, going gently south. They walked in silence, but it was not an awkward one, rather, each kept company with their own thoughts. They passed a prosperous small iron mine, burly men hard at work who waved at them as they passed.

Further on, many miles of walking later the path started to climb up, turning in on itself back into the mountains. Harald puzzled for several minutes whether to take the path, or make across a valley of snowy trees. Eventually he decided to take the path, though the day was still pleasant he did not fancy being lost in a blizzard if it decided to arrive. Just as they were coming up the path Siva paused at the last vision of the valley, looking out over the trees to the far banks of the White River, further on to the mountains that guarded the border of her native Morrowind.

They encountered a pack of wolves on their way out of the mountains and down into Eastmarch, the Hold of which Windhelm was the capital, but Siva drove them off with a few spells. Harald continually lamented his current inability to cast magic. Though he now funneled the power inwards, making him quite strong, he hadn't yet come up against anything that actually needed him to be that strong, it was actually quite aggravating being around so many suspicious Viking types and not being able to use his powers. However, he predicted that very soon the Wand would be fully integrated into him and he would be able to perform proper magic.

That would mean another trip to Saarthal and the Eye in the near future to rebalance his magic. If one looked at it mathematically, his magical reserves were 100% committed internal reinforcement, however, when he went to Saarthal in the next week or so he would commit around 70% to external magic, after all, there were situations when he probably would still need a slight physical edge.

The issue of magic was a thorny one. Mundus' magic came from a mage's connection with 'Aetherius', Harald did not even pretend to understand what that meant, but he knew that he would probably be able to open up a connection with it if he studied long enough. It was as if this world's magic saturated the matter of the world, in each rock and tree, although in minuscule amounts, it pervaded the air. His magic was internal, he supplied it himself from what many called a 'magical core', Harald himself believed this 'core' to actually be the closest thing to a soul, which was why as Wizard's grew so too did their magical core, meaning that older wizards had more power, like Dumbledore and himself.

In addition to the Elder Wand being broken down he had the air. Harald was (mostly) human, or at least reasonably close genetically to one, and therefore he required air. This meant that the breathed, taking in the magic of the world into his body to be absorbed, granting him the 'connection' that he had observed in the mages of Winterhold. The 'wider' a mage's connection, the stronger his magical power. It stood to reason therefore that larger beings such as dragons had a wider connection to allow them to fly and breathe fire.

Of course he might be entirely wrong in his assumptions, but it seemed logical.

Later in his life Harald had discovered a Ravenclaw side to his personality. As he began to encounter the more esoteric magics in his career as an Auror he needed to understand them to defeat those using them, so he went back to his books, he had several libraries to choose from, the new Potter library, the Black's, the limited but very interesting Lovegood collection. Many older families opened their own homes to him in the hopes of gaining favour.

His life seemed to move in phases, he would fight evil as a Gryffindoor, enter politics as a Slytherin, pursue scholarly matters as a Ravenclaw, then finally return to his friends as a Hufflepuff. He had posed the scenario to the assembled Headmaster's portraits, hanging over the ceiling of his study. They had replied, stating that every past Headmaster had to have the different elements from all houses if he was to run the school effectively.

Broken out of his reprieve by a shove from Siva he raised hand to the Imperial soldier who was waving at them from a fort next to the road.

How terribly ironic that out of all the places he could have landed it was a world with such easily cataloged people. You had Imperials who had an empire and looked exactly like Romans, even going so far as to have Roman names, then Nords, who were Vikings plain and simple, Bretons, who were basically French, having stereotypically good cooking, and finally Redguards, who had dark skin, lived in a desert and used curved swords in combat.

To be fair though there were also elves and the 'Beast Races' but it was exactly like he had fallen into a fantasy novel. Harald didn't quite know how to feel about all this. In the beginning he was content just to be occupied in doing something again, happy to be away from Hogwarts and the crumbling world. It was jolly kind of Destiny to have dropped him somewhere so familiar, admittedly, the mountains were far larger and the people far Vikinger than he was used to, but the country did remind him of Scotland, there was a sort of majestic beauty to Skyrim, it was a harsh country, but well worth it to live there. The culture shock was negligible, he had spent a lifetime living a thousand lives through the pages of book so he adapted easily enough, besides, looking back on his past life he had never felt quite as alive as when he was fighting for his life.

Dragonborn. That was something new as well, he thought as he looked up the sky, imagining a great scaly beast flying through the clouds. He didn't particularly fancy shouting at people to kill them, though breathing fire might be cool if he could find out how to do that.

What was that quote from Twelfth Night? _'Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.' _Well he had been born great, he was a 'marked as Voldemort's equal' after all, he had (Harald thought modestly) achieved greatness in his life, Auror, Minister, Headmaster, all by his own hand, and he had finally since his arrival on Nirn, had greatness thrust upon him in the form of the Dragonborn power.

If he had a choice between laughing and crying he would laugh, it would probably be quite fun, after all, power came with sacrifice, so if he had this power some calamity was likely to happen eventually, and if you came out on top of said calamity the overall experience might be positive.

Peeling away anticlockwise around the last slopes of the mountains after the Imperial fort they came across an immense tusked skull lying near the road. Harald shook his head in amazement, he would enjoy seeing a live mammoth when they went to Whiterun, he had heard from a trader that they lived on the great plains around that city.

As the path finally opened out onto a snowy defile and the slowly running White River a cold breeze blew down off the mountains, it brought with it small flecks of snow and tugged at Siva's loose crimson hair, it fluttered in the breeze like a fire in a dark night. Harald's own black braids weighed down by mental clasps fluttered lightly in the wind. The Nord climbed up to a rocky promontory above the path, looking out over the southern reaches of Skyrim. Directly ahead of them was the Throat of the World, reaching into the sky, its crown clouded.

They went down back onto the road, following it along the White River's course, Siva eating a handful of Snowberries, a sour but not unpleasant grape that was one of the only things that grew that far north apart from pine trees. Harald saw a handful of standing stones, Lake Yorgrim was behind them and a small mill and farm before. As he came to the stones he saw the fragment of a word on the circumference of the mound. He brushed away snow and began to read the words leading around the circle. "Viinturuth, terror of Eastmarch, slain and set here by Erech of Windhelm." He stood back, "This is a dragon mound. An actual dragon is buried here."

Siva looked on, putting another berry in her mouth, as if waiting for him to explain why this was so amazing and singular. Harald on the other hand lost himself again in thoughts of knights saving princesses from towers, juvenile pursuits to be sure, but entertaining.

They walked down through the mill, greeting the Nords who were working the large trunks onto a belt that carried them through a saw, splitting them in half. Futher on there was a bridge across a waterfall, knowing that Siva had a lower tolerance for cold than he did Harald contained his appreciation of the sight and continued on across the bridge.

As they turned off they got their first sight of Windhelm, the City of Kings. As the White River widened, going down the hill in many smaller waterfalls and rivulets it came across a huge stone bridge, spanning the river in a great arc, mighty pillars of rock holding it above the water. At the end of the bridge a city behind tall walls, each segment of the wall adorned at the top with the head of an animal, dragon, eagle, bear and wolf.

As they went to cross a smaller bridge over a tributary of the river Harald looked up to his right and saw a tall stone statue perched on a cliff top, icicles hanging down from the lip of the rock. Most of the figure was indistinct, but he had a winged helmet and held a sword downwards to stab a serpent coiled at his feet.

"You look like him." Commented Siva.

"Who?" Harald asked, still looking at the man.

"Talos." Siva relied, waving at the statue.

Harald could not judge, not having seen a mirror recently, the rocky features were worn away by the harsh winds.

On the other side of the smaller bridge there was a stable, full of the trusty, stout Skyrim horses, bred for the most part in the green fields of Whiterun to the west. There was also a clump of Snowberry bushes that Siva broke off to eagerly plunder.

They walked up to the great bridge over the river, it was enclosed and very wide, if the city merited it the way would probably fit several wagons over, and at least a crowd of people. Coming to the edge of the city Harald looked over out into the delta of the White River, seeing a bustling dock with several longships with a snarling bear on their sails. The large gates were opened to the public, but would be closed at dusk, as was the custom in walled cities. As they walked in the guards waved them through, scowling slightly from behind their helmets. Of course, Harald couldn't see their faces, but their body language gave them away. He wondered what that was about, perhaps there was bandit trouble, you didn't get that as much in Winterhold, no-one liked to wait in ambush for travelers in a blizzard.

They walked into the City of Kings, the walls were high, but the buildings cramped close together, snow settled in drifts where the walls met the cobbled. It was grand, ornate, certainly impressive, but it had none of the stateliness of other cities Harald had seen. They wandered around a few roads, stopping occasionally in a market. The buildings towering over them, almost forming an arch over the streets. There seemed to be a palatable sense of tension in the air, people scowled and glared as they passed, mostly Nords admittedly, odd since he himself was (at least appeared to be and accepted himself to belong as) a Nord. His rings and armour and rare ebony sword, the weapon he was wearing today, (the Bloodskal being too large for indoor fighting and it being awkward to wear two swords in a peaceful setting) should have automatically gained him reasonable amounts of respect.

Respect was an interesting concept to the Nords, whereas Imperials and Bretons, as well as many elves considered some people, like Kings, automatically worthy of subservience because of the fortuitous circumstances of their birth, you had to _make_ a Nord respect you. Jarls were offered reasonable service because they governed the Holds, if a Jarl was a bad one he would surrender his position, or would soon be deposed, as Elgryr the Unminded had been in Windhelm itself, therefore a Jarl ruled at the pleasure of his people and had to keep their affairs in mind. Jarls did not rule, but rather coordinated, they operated on the principles of a people's government, comparable to many similar old Scandinavian communities back on Earth.

Oddly enough, the common man usually owed greater respect to his Jarl than the High King of Skyrim, or indeed the Emperor Himself. For example, Nords would not follow commands unless they believed them honourable; a Nord would often go directly against authority if he thought that the authority was being unjust. The Jarl was expected to decide matters of honour between parties.

Thus, there were very few laws in Skyrim, perhaps put a different way, the Nords had an unwritten code, don't kill without reason, never steal or rape, honour your ancestors, protect and provide for your family, act with honour. However the extent to which these laws applied was different in each Hold. In the 'Old Holds', Winterhold, Eastmarch, The Rift and The Pale this code was applied far more stringently and traditionally, if you broke it you would be cast out and banished, rather than the community associate with you and tarnish their own honour. However, in the other Holds the code had been superseded in favour of other customs. In Solitude Imperial laws and practices had leaked in, in Markarth, Bretons had immigrated, bringing their own culture.

Harald wandered into the Temple of Talos, Gods must have something to do with it. The Nords still worshiped many of the old Atmoran Gods, Shor, Ysmir, Herma-Mora. There seemed to be some confusion in question of their divinity, Herma-Mora was actually a Daedra, whilst from Harald's information, Shor and Ysmir, as well as Talos himself, favourite son of Skyrim, seemed all to have been men at some point, legendary kings to be sure, but still men.

He sat down on one of the pews, contemplating the statue and altar of Talos at the end of the Chapel, now that he saw another statue there did seem to be some resemblance to him and Talos, a quirk of fate maybe.

"Your thoughts are heavy my son." Said a voice from next to him as a man in robes sat down next to him, most likely the priest.

"I am contemplating divinity." Replied Harald.

"A deep subject to be sure."

"How can Talos be a Divine?" he mused, "His blood was used by Martin Septim during the Oblivion Crisis, so I know that he is Divine, but how can a man become a God?" he turned to the priest, an old man with a bald head but a short beard.

"A great mystery to those who know less," replied the priest, "Some say the Lord Akatosh raised him up to be the voice of mortals amongst the Gods, yet perhaps it is not meant to be understood my mortals, rather, pray at his altar and you may understand for yourself, I cannot tell you how to believe."

Harald decided he liked this priest, the lack of organised religion seemed to have created a lack of the usual firmly book-bound priest, faith should not be forced. People were not sheep, sheep were herded, a 'flock' with the priest their Shepard, people should be lead.

He considered the priest's words. If he did pray to a god, Talos would be the God, Gods were by nature alien, but a man, yes, he could believe in a man. He rose, going slowly to the altar, then bending his knee in supplication for the first time in his memory.

"Talos teaches us: Be strong for war. Be bold against enemies and evil, and defend the people of Tamriel." Continued the priest from behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder in benediction.

Harald considered these words, the words of a man certainly, a man who understood the difficulties of morality. Harald considered himself a good person, he had never actively done evil, many of his actions had evil consequences, but he tried to minimalize those. Talos' words were not the absolutes of a God, they were the advice of a mortal, 'be strong and prepare for war', it did not say to make peace, but acknowledged that war would eventually come, and allowed it. 'Be bold against enemies and evil', he was always bold, he was a Gryffindoor, he hated backing down, it was like surrender, and surrender was defeat. Fight against evil, but what was evil? Selfishness perhaps, as the next command showed, defend the people, protect you collective, preserve your species, the basic evolutionary command.

He could pray to this God, but he didn't know what to pray for, he was going about this wrong. If he considered Talos a man.

"So," he said without ceremony and in English in case the priest was listening in, "I'm Dragonborn, heard you were as well, if you could help me understand that, that would be good, I'm also fairly sure there's going to be a war of some sort soon, and you say to protect the people, so any advice would be helpful." He asked, "Maybe just to help me protect my friends? I'm getting to like them, adapting to a new world and everything."

He looked up at the stern face on the statue, Talos had not moved, but his heart was lighter. It was not a Holy Hand Grenade, but he'd take what he was given.

Harald stood. He turned toward the exit and began walking, but felt a hand on his shoulder again, the priest pressed something into his hand, he walked out of the temple and looked at the object in his palm. It was a rosary, an altar of Talos set at the end in miniature. He weighed it thoughtfully, then without further internal debate he pulled it over his head and tucked it into his armour, the cold metal nestling under his collarbones, close to his heart.


	9. Fire in the Sky

_Less exposition in this chapter, focus on plot progression._

* * *

Harald had sold several gems from the Solstheim raid and was making his way through the Snow Quarter back toward the city gates, his agreed meeting place with Siva. The Dunmer in the Quarter were grim and standoffish, but that tended to be the Dunmer response to outsiders in general, so he was neither surprised nor offended, the night was falling slowly on Windhelm, they had travelled for most of the day and wandered round the city for another few hours when they arrived so it was getting late.

He had visited the Palace of Kings, it was dark and glittery outside, the torchlight reflecting of a sheen of ice on the stone walls, but otherwise unremarkable, him not being allowed inside because of the Jarl having 'business of state', it sounded more like a party to him, but cultural differences and all.

As Harald was walking out of the arch into the oldest section of the city, the 'Valunstrad', which meant "Avenue of Valor" in the old Nord language, he met himself. Up near to the exit a large brass plaque was set up at eye level, inscribed at the top in bold letters, though slightly tarnished, was his adopted name.

_HARALD  
REIGNED 1E 143 – 221_

_13th in the line of Ysgramor and_  
_founder of the great Kingdom of_  
_Skyrim, where he established fair_  
_Windhelm as his capital._

Harald smiled at it, then continued south along the Valunstrad toward Candlehearth Hall, the popular inn of Windhelm. Siva was standing outside, holding a small flame in her hands, teeth chattering.

"How long have you been out here?" he asked, dispensing pleasantries in favour of concern for his friend.

"Few hours," she mumbled back.

"Why didn't you go in?"

"Wouldn't let me" she replied, looking up at him under her hood, red eyes reflecting red fire.

Harald's brow furrowed. They certainly wouldn't refuse him entry, why Siva? It might have been her obviously magical ability, symbolised by her robes, but the Nords were not _that_ distrustful.

He straightened his back, holding his head up, chin forward, put on hand on the handle of his sword and strode forward, slamming open the door, banging on the far wall as it bounced off it.

The proprietor, a short man with a handlebar moustache, stopped his conversation with a patron, looking up at Harald. Seeing his dress he gave a short bow.

Not a Nord then, thought Harald, a Nord would just nod, even to a man with as many rings as Harald had.

Siva followed him in; he could hear her soft footsteps over the threshold. The patron, a Nord but not a warrior, saw her and muttered something, trying to push past Harald and through the door. Harald did not move though and the man hurt himself on his armour.

"Nord Mead," he growled, "Spiced Wine for the lady, warmed." He glowered around the bar, it was surprisingly small, but a group of Nords sat at a table in the corner, talking to each other and looking over at the bar.

"We don't serve their kind here." Protested the proprietor, nervously nodding at Siva.

Harald looked around him, there were three ways he could play this, surrender, intimidation or bribery.

Since Bribery was a form of surrender he took intimidation and picked up a small golden ornament from the top, the bartender tried to protest and snatch it back but Harald held on to it, holding it in two hands, ready to snap it in half.

"Aye sir." Said the bartender presently, sighing, "warm spiced wine, the Greatroom's upstairs, but I'd warn you sir," he said, pulling out a bottle from under the counter, "there's a strange crowd up there tonight."

Harald put the little golden thing down, took his bottle, sneered at the man, flashed a grin to Siva to let her know he was acting, and walked up the stairs, the wood creaking under him. They emerged out in a larger hall, many different tables set out around a double chimney. Harald sat down in a corner near the back of the stair so that he might observe who was coming and going from the Greatroom.

He sipped his mead, the taste was fruitier than he was used to, he wasn't sure he liked it.

"Why?" asked Siva. That was something he liked about her, she was direct, never honeying her words.

"A lesson to the bartender about Nords," he said, turning to her, "But also because I take care of my friends."

"You're not a Nord." Pointed out Siva, choosing not to comment on his second point.

He didn't answer, just smiled. Siva seemed to be steadily warming up to him. At first, she no doubt perceived him as taking advantage of her and her brother's situation to use them as a magical support weapon, however, as that was only an afterthought of Harald's and he had perused the friendship with them afterwards, he was been vindicated in her eyes.

They sat, warming slowly by the fire. Harald unbuckled his swordbelt and hung it on the chair behind him, Siva lowered her hood. As Harald looked around the room he started picking out the 'strange crowd'. In one corner a mercenary sat, looking glum and staring into his mead, nothing unusual there, three Cyrodiillian wizards sat in another corner, sipping what looked like brandy from small cups and gambling with a set of dice, 'strange' perhaps, but they looked well-travelled, perhaps making their way up to the College?

Further in, between what seemed to be a secondary bar and them sat two very old looking Nords, not old looking by age, but they seemed out of their time. The first had an incredibly long white beard with pieces of bone and ivory entwined in it; he wore intricately decorated robes with swirling geometric pictograms. His companion was a huge man; he had black hair and beard and carved ancient Nordic armour like the set Harald had salvaged from Saathal. They were locked in whispered conversation with each other, the robed man staring into space and his friend combing the room as Harald was doing himself. Their eyes briefly met, Harald got an incredible sense of power from the look, and there seemed to be a brief spark of recognition in them. But there was something else in his eyes, maybe…familiarity? Harald wished he had his Legilimency, an art which he was most proficient in. He rarely actively practiced it, as minds were complicated things and he had enough thoughts of his own, but he had developed the ability to discern truth with a glance, similar to how many professional interrogators would read the body language of their prisoner and learn things from the information.

At the bar a very oddly dressed man was harassing a barmaid. He was dressed in a fine suit quartered purple and red and had a white cravat. His hair, like his clothes though, was in a state of some disarray, whereas once the white locks and beard may have been combed neatly there were now many strands hanging down. He was making expansive gestures and every so often Harald could hear random, seemingly unrelated words coming from him.

Up the stairs came two mismatched people, seemingly together, the first was a huge Orc, one of the first Harald had seen in Skyrim. The Orc had a large, dirty bastard sword strapped to his back, but was otherwise unarmed. The second was a female Dark Elf, dressed in dark clothes, the sort that an assassin or thief might wear to move silently in darkness. The Orc and the Elf moved toward the bar, exchanging curt, cold nods and a sneer each with the strangely dressed old man.

Harald wished to investigate the group, he informed Siva, then walked over to the bar, acting as normal as possible, something about the group didn't feel right.

Just as he had reached the bar and received another drink from the barmaid, happy to be rid of the strange man, he heard a singsong voice bellowing from the stairway.

"Sheeeeooooo!"

The man in quartered doublet span around.

"Sam! You're LATE!" he bellowed at a similar volume, attracting the attention of the bar. Luckily there were few patrons otherwise they would have been scared off. "They're OUT of CHEESE!"

That seemed an odd complaint. Perhaps it was code and this was a guild meeting.

'Sam' walked up, a Breton with dark hair and tanned skin, dressed in dour black robes tied with a cord at his waist. He greeted the other two.

"Orkey." To the Orc, who growled at him, teeth bared, no doubt a close aquantaince, Harald doubted anyone but a friend could address an Orc as such without sustaining serious injury.

"Spider." To the Dunmer, who inclined a glass of wine and tilted her head elegantly, the name suited her immensely.

Definitely a meeting of some kind, they were clearly using code names.

"You found him yet?" asked Sam without preamble to the group.

"Who? My Disciple?" asked Sheo, whispering conspiratorially this time, his slight accent completely different from his demeanour beforehand.

"My brother was mistaken." Said the Dunmer quietly, "He is not your disciple; it simply took longer to process the information."

"Hermy making a MISTAKE!?" bellowed Sheo in outrage, then paused, "NOT my disciple?!" he screamed again, this time horrified.

"A miscalculation."

"The Mother of Roses was visited by Him this morning." Put in Sam.

"You and your roses." Scoffed Orkey, downing a horn of some foul-smelling brew.

"She sensed His power, even through the Veil." Said Sam quietly, looking about the room, luckily the big Orc blocked his line of sight to Harald.

"A variable, as Brother said." Continued the Dunmer, "One that has pulled at the strings of my web."

"Where is the dog?" asked Orkey bluntly.

"_Dear_ Clavicus is still recovering." Replied Sam, "Alternatively if you mean the Huntsman, he is negotiating with some witches."

Harald heard the sounds of drinking by the group, the quiet _clink_ of Spider's teeth on the wineglass, the loud quaffing of Orkey, and a crunching sound that he couldn't see the origin of.

"Don't move, but look at those three in the corner, the two Nords and an Elf." Came the voice of Spider.

"We are not the only ones with interest in the new arrival." Said Sheo.

Harald discreetly followed their line of sight, he saw with some alarm that the old Nords he had seen earlier were sitting as his and Siva's table, Siva looked unalarmed, but there could easily be a dagger hidden somewhere. He wanted to get back over there, away from this strange assemblage.

"The dark man reminds me of the Septim." Said Sam to the group.

"Not at all" replied Sheo scornfully.

"How would you know?" hissed Spider.

"I spent three years with the man. We destroyed your sword together, don't you remember?" teased Sheo back, the Dunmer hissed, annoyed.

They came a tense silence; the robed Nord on Harald's table had leaned over and begun whispering to the dark haired one.

"You said he'd be here." Growled the Orc.

"He WILL be." Assured Sheo, "Sam SAID he would!" he said, steadily increasing in volume again.

"He likes the mead." Commented Sam, taking a sip of his own.

Harald had had enough, he slipped out of his barstool and around the darkened edges of the room, away from the fire. He came to his seat at the table, unoccupied next to Siva.

"Took your time." She muttered, glowering around her.

"Yes he did." Said the larger Nord, sitting back in his chair.

Harald ignored him and looked at Siva, silently enquiring to her wellbeing. She gave a small shrug, then took a goblet of steaming liquid, the wine Harald had ordered and raised it to her lips.

The robed Nord took a set of runes from his sleeve. These were small chips, rectangular and carved with symbols that represented different concepts or words. Harald could read them, but only understood a few of their concepts. He had studied Ancient Runes after he graduated from Hogwarts, they were most useful in the preparation of Wards and Runic Arrays, basically magical computers.

From what he had seen in Skyrim they held almost identical meaning with the ones on Earth. The Nord took two particular runes and set them together crossways to the odd group across the room. The Orc and Dunmer had started forward, faces resolute, but they began casting about themselves in confusion, looking for Harald and the others.

Harald had seen this effect before, usually when he donned the Cloak in plain sight of others. He looked at the runes on the table.

The one closest to him was Pertho, a symbol similar to a capital 'E', this represented Secrets or Chance, the other, Algiz, a stylised 'Y' was Protection, and commonly carved into the hearth's of homes to bring the inhabitants health and happiness. Clearly the Nord had set up some kind of warding around their table.

"Now we may speak clearly." Said the other, looking Harald in the eye, he once again got the sense of familiarity with the man.

Harald evaluated the two, he was less sure of being able to defeat them, the older man clearly had power, and he suspected the warrior was more than a bodyguard. "Who are you and what do you want?" he asked, from his armour the man was of the older Holds, perhaps a native of Windhelm itself, but certainly a traditionalist, and in Skyrim the new was of the Empire, their kneeling and their ceremony, were scorned.

Names for Nords were important, they were symbolic, his own, Harald, meant 'Heroic Leader', a second name was usually only given for a particularly noteworthy achievement, such as Hoag Merkiller, who was named for obvious reasons, or Talos himself, which in the Nordic language meant 'Stormcrown', so called for his use of the Voice to call storms to aid him in battle.

"You may name me Wulfharth." Replied the man, a strong name, a derivative of 'Wulf' or Wolf, "I am here only as a messenger, and a reluctant one at that," he said grudgingly.

The older Nord, as yet unnamed, touched Wulfharth's arm, Wulfharth stilled.

"Your prayer is answered, and I am told to deliver three things," he continued, "first, Luck," he put forward a little golden Septim, the highest currency of the Empire, made of gold. The Septim had endured as the coin's name even after the Septim line died out and the Mede family became the Emperors.

Harald took the coin, it was very old, one side had a dragon, and the other a tarnished profile, its features indistinct, though undoubtedly it had originally shown the noble face of Tiber Septim, the First Emperor.

"The second, Wisdom." Said Wulfharth, leaning back.

The unnamed Nord spilled rune tablets onto the table, then took out certain ones following a method of divination unknown to Harald. The Nord said not a word all though the action. Runes were a common method of Skalds and shamans to foretell the fate of the person they were casting the runes for. Harald accepted this readily, he had been the subject of two prophecies in his life after all.

The first rune was Ansuz, an 'F', symbolic of Divine Power or a godly ancestor, this was not to be surprised at, Harald was Dragonborn, and carried the blood of Akatosh, the Lord of the Divines in his veins.

The second was Thurisaz, a line with a triangle halfway down, which spoke of a difficult test or powerful enemy. Again, this was in line with Harald's expectations, he had been drawn to Mundus for a purpose, though the road was easy now it would not be in the future.

The third rune from the Elder Futhark, the language of Runes was Nauthiz, meaning need or necessity, the need for Harald to triumph over this enemy?

The penultimate rune confirmed his theory, this was Teiwaz, the Spear, it showed an arrow, and meant justice was forthcoming and symbolised strength of purpose, willpower.

The last rune was blank, Wulfharth looked surprised, but then nodded, looking at Harald with a new expression on his face. On Earth, this rune was known as Odin's Rune, but probably had a different name on Nirn, regardless, it symbolised unlimited potential, and was very rarely cast, appearing often around momentous periods of history.

"A portentous reading." Said Wulfharth as his silent companion scrapped the tiles back into a bag. He began to explain the meanings but Harald cut him off, indicating his understanding of the letters. Wulfharth nodded, and then presented his last item.

"Purpose." He said, Harald all the while listening intently, Siva seemed to be following the conversation in some confusion, but watched them intensely. "You have the Blood of the Dragon, learn from the Speakers of the Dragon and the Guards of the Dragon, live with honour, and you will find your purpose." said Wulfharth, then abruptly, both men stood and walked to the mismatched group of individuals, who had apparently been standing at the threshold of the ward for some time, attempting to breach it.

As they walked forward the Orkey and Spider drew their weapons, angry looks on their face, the unnamed Nord and Sam exchanged friendly nods and Wulfharth and Sheo just looked at each other.

"You know the Accord." Said Wulfharth sternly, his hand on the pommel of a sword but he had not drawn it. Orkey growled but lowered his huge sword, whilst the Dunmer's knives disappeared immediately back into her dark clothing.

Sheo started to giggle manically, then looking directly at Harald's eyes he gave a mock salute and disappeared in a flash and a puff of smoke. Harald was not even surprised at that, this was shaping up to be a most extraordinary day.

Orkey huffed, then stomped out down the stairs, presumably departing the building.

Spider gave Harald one last contemptuous look, then seemed to melt into the shadows, the flames briefly dimming as she went.

Sam raised his cup to Harald, "Good Fortune to you Dragonborn!" he called jovially, "We will take great interest in your exploits." He then went to the silent Skald and clapped him on the shoulder, steering the aged man to the bar where they filled flagons and toasted each other, drinking like old companions.

By the time Harald looked around Wulfharth had disappeared also, leaving only his words and his coin left. Harald put the coin in his pouch at his waist and sat back, motioning for another drink.

"What did they say?" Asked Siva quietly, sipping her now cool wine.

"You were sitting right there." Said Harald, looking at here puzzled.

"I couldn't hear you, your mouths moved but no sound came out, it seemed…dampened." She explained gesturing to her pointed ears.

Harald wondered about that. He thought that it was probably some form of protection against ears not meant for the conversation, perhaps the old man's rune ward had excluded his elven friend also, he saw no need to keep secrecy about it, and if he did he would surely lose her trust entirely.

"When I walked over to eavesdrop on them I thought I was listening in on some kind of meeting, possibly for a group, however I'm now not so sure." He explained, swirling his mead around in the cup, missing the minty taste of the Winterhold brand. "The man in quartered colours was called Sheo, the Dunmer woman, Spider, the Orc 'Orkey' and the Breton, Sam, they all spoke of being here to see, or meet, a male someone."

"That was when the Nords came over." Put in Siva, filling her part of the narrative, "they said they wanted to talk to you, and that they would go after."

Harald nodded, their measure was effective, "All seemed to know I was Dragonborn, but gathered also to asses my power, they were most cryptic."

"The runes?"

"A reading, nothing I did not already guess."

Siva nodded. Her eyes wandered over to the bar, Sam and the old man were still drinking, their backs to Harald and Siva. He looked down into her wine, staring at the dark red liquid in the goblet.

Her brows furrowed, Harald was at once reminded of an identical expression Luna would adopt when thinking hard about something. He furiously squashed the recollection; he was in no mood to recall the faces of dead friends.

Siva looked up suddenly, then back to the cup, then she gasped.

"Tell me more about them!" she insisted suddenly, looking up at Harald.

"The Nords?"

"No," Siva said, nodding to Sam, "Him and his friends."

Harald related the conversation as best he could remember, noting the different names and titles they used for each other and watching in growing worry as Siva's eyes widened slowly.

At the end of his tale the elf began to curse in a harsh language, no doubt the tongue of the Dunmer.

"Six in as many weeks." He muttered, running a hand through her hair.

"Six what?" asked Harald, concerned by her agitated state.

"Princes, Daedric Princes, you have, in six weeks, aroused the attention of no less than half a dozen gods." She explained, "The Mother of Roses is Azura, the Huntsman they spoke of is Hircine, the 'Clavicus' is Clavicus Vile, how did you not know this immediately?" she asked in exasperation.

"Daedric Princes are not common topics of conversation." Replied Harald defensively, but gestured for her to continue.

Siva gave him a withering look but continued her explanation. "The Dunmer that spoke of webs is Mephala, the Webspinner, sister of Hermaeus Mora, the first of who's realm you disturbed that you disturbed."

"The others?"

"The deranged man is Sheogorath, Prince of Madness."

Harald admitted to himself that he probably should have guessed that one.

"The Orc is Malacath, patron of the outcast and father of the Orsimer."

Harald wondered why Malacath was interested in him, he had wandered into Mora's realm, disturbed the web of plots of Melphala, and being Master of Death would be of interest to Azura, Mistress of Life, and Sheogorath probably was there to investigate him and the chaos that he would no doubt create on his arrival, but Malacath seemed to have no stake in the gathering.

Though, thought Harald sadly, the road of an immortal would be a long one, and all his new friends would die, and would leave him an outcast in the world, as was Malacath's sphere.

"And out thirsty friend there?" he asked, indicating Sam with his mug.

"Sanguine, Prince of Revelry." Siva answered quietly.

Sanguine turned round at the sound of his name, even though it was said in a low voice, he smiled and gave a salute with his own drink, then went back to the bar.

Harald thought he seemed a fairly jovial fellow, and not apt to go burning down a town or anything similar that Daedra were apparently wont to do.

"What about the Nords?" asked Harald, no doubt they had their own places in the Nirnian pantheon.

"No idea, your people, your gods." Said Siva with a hint of her former waspishness. "But I should think Divines, they spoke of the Accord, that is the pact that Daedra and Aedra would not fight in the mortal plains, as it caused great destruction,

As Harald understood it, Aedra had created Nirn, the planet, or possibly the plain of existence, he was not sure which, but that Aedra actually meant 'Our Ancestors', those who created the world and then descended to the world to make sure life was continued upon it. Daedra, conversely, meant 'Not Our Ancestors', which Harald thought odd, given that several races were descended from Daedra, particularly in the case of Malacath for the Orcs, or Boethiah, Azura and Melphala in the case of the Dunmer, and were revered because of it.

However, this stream of consciousness was useless, and in the absence of any additional information Harald thought back to Wulfharth's words. The 'Guards of the Dragon' was easy enough, 'Guards of the Dragon': Dragonguard, the forerunners of the Blades, based in the snowy Jerall Mountains in Cyrodiil. He was planning on going there anyway, but not for a few months. 'Speakers of the Dragon' took him a couple of minutes, but was soon worked out, 'Speakers of the Dragon' could be just 'Speakers of Dragon', meaning the language of Dragons, meaning that he could gain assistance, knowledge, something, from people who spoke the dragon language. That was fairly obvious when one thought about it - the Greybeards.

This did not change Harald's plans, but in fact accelerated them, he decided to stay a night in the inn, then depart immediately in the morning, making his way quickly north to Winterhold and his fleet. He would take his ships and sail for Solitude, then take a carriage to Whiterun, then through Pale Pass and onto Cloud Ruler Temple, citadel of the Blades. After all, neither the skeleton of Numenix, nor the Greybeards were going anywhere, and he could go back to them at his leisure.

Or perhaps it would be better to go to the Greybeards first? That way he might learn the Way of the Voice, and the ability to Shout, that would make the Blades, if not trust him, but be interested in him, meaning he might be accepted more easily, he would give it further thought as he travelled, it was not urgent to do so now. Either the Blades of the Greybeards could give him council and aid it appeared, and he had only to choose which to go to first.

Presently he and Siva dinned on a thick, tasty broth with chunks of bread, it was a supremely wholesome meal, as befitted such a warm Hall. The stew was primarily composed of potatoes, carrots and grains of some kind, barley, Harald thought. This was washed down with more mead, it being difficult to get water at this time of night. Siva by this time was almost tipsy, her cheeks becoming darker against her already dark skin.

After this they rented a room at a moderate price and went to bed. Harald found the bed of an adequate size, contrary to his expectations. He had, in later life, found beds to be constantly too small due to his height he had acquired soon after his twentieth birthday. However, Nords were larger than Englishmen, and they made beds to an appropriate size for him. His mattress was filled with feathers rather than straw, and made for a comfortable, if prickly, night.

As Harald drifted off to sleep his mind went over the momentous events of the day, it was a good day, all accounted, and he had enjoyed it, and learnt many new things that he might otherwise have missed had he decided to just stay in his house, or investigate a cave or something similar. Unbidden to his mind came in faces of the dead and swirled around him in a dream.

His parents, first in the Mirror of Erised, then in spectral form, draw forth by the Ring.

The Weasleys, half of them happy, laughing, half dead or angry with him.

Hermionie, screaming at him after the conclusion of the Muggleborn Rebellion, telling him how ashamed he had been to have called him a brother, her husband Ron looking awkward but staying silent.

The Lupins, three generations of them, smiling sadly.

A crowd of students and staff, seated at the House benches after listening to the Sorting Hat's song.

Finally Luna, white hair floating on a breeze, blue eyes staring out at him, little mouth set in a slight smile. She walked up to him, pale dress stirred by the dream-wind.

"Harry."

She shook his shoulder.

"Harry!"

More insistently she shook him.

"Wake up."

Harald woke, coming upright and into consciousness at the same time.

He groggily looked round, instead of Luna the much more physical Siva was touching his shoulder.

"Come see!" she told him excitedly, then ran out the room, a flash of red hair being the only sign of her presence.

Harald pulled his blanket around his shoulders, not taking his other accoutrements as he doubted an attack, and walked down the stairs out into the chilly Windhelm night. He saw Siva sitting some way off, perched on a set of stone steps; he went to join her, sitting down beside the elf.

"Wait for it." She whispered in answer to his question of the purpose of their excursion.

He looked up, following her eyes past the great tall walls and past the thatched and slated roofs of the houses, past the highest tower of the Palace of Kings.

In the sky, just emerging from the pale light of dawn to the east was a ribbon of colour. A green band that stretched the length of the land. Yellow streaks ran through it, and soon other ribbons joined it, fluttering about the mountains and around the clouds above them.

Harald forgot the cold as a huge spiralling rainbow circled the peaks of the mountains, the moon shone in the sky and red streams danced across its light, meeting blue garlands from the north, fluttering and dancing together, entwining to form the most magnificent of purples.

Soon after Harald raised a hand to add to the conflagration, his silver dragon shot out, flapping silently to join the colours in the sky, before he could lower his arm Siva snuggled into his shoulder, taking advantage of his warmth and draped blanket. He happily lowed his arm around her, and they watched the stars together, the lights lasting for long hours in the sky, bottoms just tipping the vale of pine trees in light that would be remembered for years, a silver dragon making its way slowly all the way through the conflagration, soaring majestically through the starlight and departing finally with the lights as the dawn came.


	10. Haafingar

_**Sechrima**__: Could have sworn that I'd specifically looked up the spellings, but anyway, thanks and I've changed it on all the chapters now, Aela's ancestor will be popping up again, then later on Aela herself is going to meet him and be all 'woah, your *that* guy' and ect. Timeframe is 4E129, going into 4E130 in this chapter, just a few years after Winterhold collapsed, something Harry may or may not have caused. The timeframe is actually quite annoying, like I have no idea who the High King is at the moment, Torygg's father was Istlod, but we have no information on his predecessor. _

_**Mike**__: Didn't realise about the runes, literally googled 'rune language' and looked at the first page, sorry about that, but I don't think it changes anything in particular, just imagine that Skyrim *does* have a blank one_

_**Mike/Sechrima**__: Pleased I'm getting the balance right, thanks for the feedback/advice_

_**Moss**__: Yea, basically, so look forward to epic swordfights and magical duels._

_** .5**__: Nah, not yet, or for a long time, Siva is really quite young by Dunmer standards._

_**ssg1**__: Mostly the__ Warlord Chronicles, especially the shield wall fights and the details of longships, _Fyrdraca_ is clearly an awesome name for a ship. Well done for noticing._

_**Makurayami**__: Meridia and Nocturnal will definitely be appearing, but not Jyggalag, as I believe he got killed/banished/separated/somethinged at the end of the Shivering Isles DLC for Oblivion. But various Aedra/Daedra will be popping up, Daedra in particular, its like their thing to mess about with mortals, its literally what they do, but some of them don't like messing about as much, eg, you have to recover Meridia's beacon before she talks to you, similarly, Vile cant manifest himself at the moment because he's still recovering from the Umbriel incident. I might be wrong on the Jyggalag point, feel free correct me if I am._

* * *

_Fyrdraca _slipped through the dark waters off the cape of Hjaalmarch, guided by the light of the Solitude Lighthouse, a flickering glow in the west.

Harald was at the tiller, leaning slightly to the right so that the ship would turn left, he heard the wood creaking as the sails twisted around to greet and embrace the north wind, sending them quickly along the Karth River into Solitude's port. Harald wished they had come in in daylight so he might have seen the rocky promontory some of Solitude was built on, as it was he only saw a shadow passing across the stars and a few torches high above the water, the lights inside the houses of the inhabitants of the city.

The ship glided into dock, small waves being pushed along by the bow. Calls of greeting came from the dock and were answered with thrown ropes. Strong men reeled the ropes in and the ship rocked and listed to the right as it was hauled alongside the pier. Harald touched his Talos amulet in superstitious thanks and jumped off the ship onto the dock, the wind pulling his sealskin hood off his head and blowing about his braids.

Three guards with the red wolf of Solitude on their shields escorted an official up, he was a short man, possibly an Imperial, and held a slate in his hands, ready to record their particulars.

"_Fyrdraca_ and two ships under Thane Harald of Winterhold, cargo of furs, precious metals, oil and other trade goods." He answered to the officials questions, indicating his ship and the others moving into dock.

There was indeed furs, oil and metals in the holds of the ships, but the ebony was absent, stored safely in Harald's pouch at the behest of Savos, who had argued that as Solitude was home to the base of the East Empire Company, they should not overly advertise that they had holds full of valuable loot from another base of said Company. To make up the weight difference he filled the holds with rocks instead, and locked the doors to stop anyone from investigating.

There had also been some plans in the back of Harald's mind to make use of the _Gemino_ Charm to replicate the trade goods, making them duplicate and therefore being able to sell more of them. However, he knew first that the other Nords would consider this stealing, and therefore not go along with it, but also that in time duplicates disintegrated, which would harm his reputation in future deals. Furthermore, he just didn't need the money, the ebony would sell for a high price, time had been generous in raising the price and in Dawnstar, where they had stopped to pick Haestan up, Harald had heard rumours of an Ebony shortage in the Empire, raising the price phenomenally.

Of course, if he flooded the market with the odd metal in the first place, the price would go down massively, so he was planning to either sell it in pieces via a broker he would hire, or if no such institution existed, he would sell it to a single person to allow them to re-sell it themselves, leaving him with sufficient amounts of gold to pursue his interests.

Just before they started out of Windhelm he had remembered to investigate a Word Wall rumour in the area, leaving Siva asleep in the inn after he carried her back to her bed he quickly made his way to Bonestrewn Crest, a small hillock in the middle of an area of hot springs and foul, sulphur filled air, Harald had hated it but made his way up the path to the top of the Crest, he went through the normal affair of standing in front of the Wall and absorbing the light, through his new but limited understanding of the Dragon Language he read that the Wall had been set up in praise of 'Bard Lunerio', but he could make nothing more of it. That Wall gave him the Word 'Frost', and as he made his way back to Windhelm he considered the Words he knew currently. He had Ice and Flesh from Saarthal and Mount Anthor, and now he had Frost, he did not know if these Words were the ones that made up a single 'Shout' or if they were part of two or more Shouts, the first two seemed to belong together, whereas 'Strength' was clearly a different Shout altogether. Siva was not happy to be left behind but after Harald told her about the conditions of the trip she relented and they made their way north, setting a faster pace as the land was not familiar to them.

Harald thought a great deal as they walked, their pace leaving little breath for speech. He wanted to build up a base for himself in preparation of the 'Powerful Enemy' Wulfharth's runes had spoken of, Harald himself was a powerful individual, but only one man, and he needed a support and information network, an organisation he could rely on to help him.

Atherian magic (his term for magic that derived power from the plane of Atherius) could help with this, and he had begun his instruction with the Arens, taking theory lessons from Savos, and the practical aspects from Siva. The siblings were not masters of their art, but were excellent for learning anyway, Savos being particularly skilled in Alteration and Illusion was instructing him in the so called 'higher arts', the more complicated spells, whereas Siva taught Destruction, and how to reduce his enemies to literally piles of dust.

His own Magic, which he had not thought of a name for yet, was now working. As soon as he returned to Winterhold he had felt a painful twinge from his arm, he prodded it several times, finding that the Wand was fully 'integrated' having being broken down and passed around his body. He was ecstatic at this, and pausing only to throw his possessions into his home he sprinted off toward Saarthal. Covering the distance in record time he ripped through the covered doorway and blurred through the dead city, not bothering to open the doors before running through them, and instead blasting through levels and through to the Eye of Magnus. He had touched the surface and jumped inside the sphere. This time it only took him a brief single day to reorder the magical pathways around his body; he re-routed the blocks and dams that he had set up, allowing his magic to flow freely out and into the world.

His primary focus would be his left arm, as that was the arm he had put the Wand into, but he would be able to theoretically be able to direct magic through any limb, but with less effectiveness. Harald tried casting spells, and steadily worked his way through the Hogwarts syllabus, sending curses and other powerful spells at the Eye itself to 'recharge' it after his modifications to his body.

He had known in the beginning that his enhanced body wasn't sustainable or viable over a long period of time, for want of a better word, it 'short circuited' no matter how much power he pushed into his limbs to move faster or stronger his muscles couldn't take it, and if he continued along that route they would rapidly wear out or snap entirely. However, even if he was no longer Superman, he was still Captain America, being a paragon of _human_ genetic development, rather than being _super_human. That would certainly suffice for his needs, whatever they might be.

Magic had come in handy on the first stepping out from Saarthal. While he had been inside manipulating the building blocks of creation, a blizzard had picked up. Harald had tried slogging through the snow, using his arms to dig his way out of the sheltered crater or gorge the entrance to Saarthal was in, but then he heard a small voice in the back of his head.

_Are you a Wizard or not?_

He laughed, but instead of a simple warming charm he swirled his hand around above him, conjuring forth a long whip of fire, sweeping it around him like a gymnast in that odd event at the Olympics that consisted of swirling a ribbon on a stick about. Harald gleefully whipped his way through the blizzard till his arm got tired, and he got lost. Instead he cast the rather more discreet Warming and Imperturbable Charms, as well as a Point Me spell to get to Winterhold.

Harald veritably bounced along after this, happily striding along the road, the snow melting instantly into slush under his footsteps, the slush sliding of his feet without wetting them.

As he neared Winterhold he dismissed the spells, it would look suspicious otherwise, and he walked back in. Several people called out to him, and there seemed to be preparations for some celebration going on. Harald looked on this oddly, but then questioned one villager about it, learning that the 'New Life Festival' was only days away.

Tamriel's calendar was surprisingly similar to Earth's, there were twelve months, four seasons, and some of the festivals, such as a midsummer celebration, were the same. One could tell the time of the year by the month's name, much better in Harald's opinion. For instance, First Seed, was homologous to March, and was the first time one could seed one's fields if you were a farmer. Or that Sun's Dusk was when the days became shorted in the lead up to Winter. Though Nords as a rule did not have much reckoning for numbers or dates, they did know when the annual parties were. For example, most Nords did not know their birthdays, only knowing that it was 'at the start of spring' or 'Midsummer' this made for a beneficial arrangement, mening that a person would announce their birthday, and people who liked them would bring them presents, in fact, this was one of the only occasions gifts were seen to be socially acceptable in Skyrim.

Harald soon learned that it was Christmas. The constant snows of winter in the north had thrown his reckoning off, and apparently he was expected to bring gifts. Several random people who apparently knew him gave him trinkets, the best of which was a mammoth carved from ivory given to him by a small, fair haired child of indeterminate gender. Harald smiled at that, and picked up a branch from the side of the road, then transfigured it into a toy solider, and set it off marching alongside the child, who's eyes widened till Harald thought they might pop out.

As he had walked along the main road of Winterhold he had visited the various people in his social circle. After thinking more about wanting to acquire an Arcane Enchanter he walked across the bridge to the College, he didn't necessarily need the enchanter, but it seemed to supercharge his spells, giving them greater potency and duration. To that end he visited the Arch-Mage, who gifted him with a complete set of the Songs of the Return, a series on Ysgramor's flight from Atmora. Harald truly looked forward to reading these and gave the Arch-Mage a branch of Gubraithian Fire, bewitched to burn forever more, regardless of situation, even in water or a vacuum. That done and the old fellow eagerly investigating this wonder Harald was free to use the enchanter.

He patted himself down for small objects to enchant for his friends, Winterhold having few gift shops. He found a drinking horn, an interesting rock he had picked up, several other miscellaneous objects and a bolt of cloth which had mysteriously appeared in his pouch, Talos knew how that got there. He decided to give the horn to Haestan, bewitching it to have an unlimited supply of Nord mead, no doubt the man would be pleased with that.

Then he went to Savos in the Hall of Attainment and gave him the enchanted staff from Saarthal, and conjured several bouquets of flowers in Siva's cell when he didn't find her there. Not in a romantic sense, but he knew she would appreciate some colour in the almost solidly white landscape of Winterhold; flowers were a rare sight in the north of Skyrim, it was just too cold.

He visited the Jarl's longhouse and put sharpening charms on all his weapons to the wonder of the court. This gained him much respect from the Jarl and Housecarls, they already knew him for an honourable warrior so they were not put off by his use of magic. Some types of magic were more widely accepted than others, Destruction for instance was seen as 'honest', whereas Illusion and Alteration were seen as cheating by most Nords. However, as Harald was only improving the weapons of the people, as well as making little things for children, he was seen in much the same way as a good smith, one who reinforced armour and weapons with his craft.

So after waiting for the celebrations to finish Harald entered the thirteenth decade of the Fourth Era surrounded by his friends and admirers in the Jarl's longhouse. There was much merriment, and the next morning he had to go round up his crew for the journey west to Solitude, most were hung-over, but the sea air and breeze invigorated them and most had time to rest on their benches, as the wind was favourable.

Around halfway, after Haestan was picked up and presented with his gift Harald had gone down to make a full inventory and poke around for anything interesting in the hold. Down there he had found the Companion he had taken to Solstheim, sprawled in a nest of furs. Carrying her upstairs they had dangled her over the side of the boat to wake her up, dunking her head and shoulders in the sea water.

The wrath of Yvette of Whiterun was indeed fearsome, as three men found as they were punched into the sea. Luckily Harald was waiting with a rope and cast it over, hauling them back into the ship. As it turned out Yvette had a similar constitution as most men and had gotten rascally drunk and passed out in the hold, having hung about Winterhold to get her cut of the loot. They had laughed off the fight, and Yvette had spent most of the journey regaling her fellow Nords with tales of Jorrvaskr and the valour of the Companions. Harald somewhat doubted most of these stories, having heard that once maybe the Companions were a strong force of great warriors, but now their numbers were reduced and they mainly operated as a group of paid thugs and brawlers. Somewhat disappointing really.

Regardless, Harald and Company walked up the wooden paths of the dock, then further into the city of Solitude, they booked rooms for the night, in an inn rather than in the sailor's bunkhouses on the docks. In the morning the city awoke and so did they, Harald dispatched the various members away to find buyers for the cargo, Haestan to the Blue Palace, where most of the rich folk would be, and the Arens who disliked being separated in unfamiliar settings to check in the various shops along the main streets of Solitude. Harald himself and Yvette went up to Castle Dour, the base of the Imperial Legion in Skyrim, there would perhaps be officers there who wished for specially made weapons or armour of the rich ebony. To this end they turned right just before the archway and progressed toward a smith, labouring away at his forge, hammer swinging in great arcs and coming down on metal that glowed red.

As they approached Yvette's face slowly broke into a smile and she crept up behind the smith and waited till he turned round, then shouted "Rollo!" and embraced him.

Apparently they knew each other, as 'Rollo' shouted in joy and hugged the Companion. Harald noticed both people had tattoos on their faces, Yvette's being four diagonal stripes in teal paint whilst Rollo had a starburst around his left eye.

"Always good to meet another Companion!" exclaimed Rollo, slapping Yvette on the back, staggering her slightly with his muscular arms.

That would explain it.

"Who's this then" asked Harald superfluously but for courtesy's sake.

"Rollo was an apprentice until a few years ago, he was my Shield-Brother." Explained Yvette.

"Everyone knows Gray-Mane's are the best smiths in Skyrim, they work the Skyforge after all," said Rollo, he had an accent Harald had not yet encountered, it seemed rolling in part, but also smoother, he sounded like a person from one of the older Holds but with Imperial influences on his speech. Harald did not know what the 'Skyforge' was, but assumed it was a particularly special forge in Whiterun, the smith continued, "but Gray- Mane's are Companions, and won't teach anyone but fellow Companions."

This conversation went on for some time, the two catching up on their doings in the past few years. It seemed Yvette was disappointed in Rollo's fascination with metals rather than beating up defenceless animals and wished to pursue a career in the manufacturing sector of Solitude's industry.

Harald was not that interested in their conversation, and only wanted to know which men to approach about the ebony sales, he got the information and left the two happily chatting in a tavern, and met up with the others near the Blue Palace at a small park. The sun was shining strongly by now and the Arens had removed their hoods, Savos was sitting on a rock, anxious to preserve his robes cleanliness, whereas Siva had thrown herself down on the grass and was happily ripping up some of the turf.

"So, what've we found?" asked Harald to the group.

"Most of the merchants don't have enough gold to purchase any large amount, but some of them might be good to sell to, there's a jeweller on the bridge who seems interested in crate or two, ore and ingots, to have as backing for his merchandise." Said Savos, looking in disapproval at his sister who had adopted her customary pose of lying on her front, her legs bent and swinging behind her.

"Not enough." Harald said, "We need to find a larger buyer, otherwise we might have to start selling the stuff singularly. I found the same in Castle Dour." He nodded at the grey battlements, "There's a few Praetors and Legates there who'd like ebony weapons as a status symbol, but aren't willing to buy the raw materials."

"The Jarl's steward seemed very interested." Put in Haestan presently as they all thought about the problem.

"Oh?"

"Yes, it seems the High King might be a buyer."

"You met with Utred?" asked Savos.

"No, his son Istlod." Replied Haestan, "I got the impression that the Crown would be very happy to be the saviours in the 'Ebony Crisis' as they're calling it from Black Marsh to High Rock. "

"Why can't we sell to who they want to sell to?" asked Siva.

"Because we don't know the people who they want to sell to in order to ease the shortage." Said Savos complicatedly.

"Connections, we don't have them." Summarised Haestan for her.

"Ah."

"So?" asked Harald, "What did Istlod say?"

"Well since the East Empire are now aware of us-" replied Haestan before he was cut off by Harald

"What? So soon?" Harald asked surprised.

"We heard about it as well, there are customs officials flocking about the docks, but since they can't find the ebony they have no proof." Said Savos smugly.

"Can't find it?" asked Haestan slightly worriedly.

"Indeed not," continued Savos, "The boats are filled with gravel and boulders," as the blood drained from Haestan's face at the apparent loss Savos reassured him, "I suspect the Thane had something to do with it, I discussed it with him yesterday."

Haestan looked relived, "Well as I was saying, Istlod doesn't want the 'Company's attention on the deal, so he wants it quiet like, otherwise they might tax us."

"You mean rob us blind." Commented Siva with a particular vicious tug on a daffodil.

"Just so," said Savos, "So we sell to the Prince and don't tell anyone about it, I'm sure he has collateral."

Harald saw the sense in that; Savos after all was a very logical elf, the opposite of his impulsive sister, and his advice was usually sound.

"He's not a Prince," Haestan pointed out, then looked at Harald, "You'll have to meet with him, as Captain."

Harald nodded, that would show the seriousness of the offer. "When?" he asked.

"Best to do it tomorrow." Replied Haestan, "Matters of State and all."

Harald scoffed, remembering what 'Matters of State' meant in Eastmarch.

Haestan raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"I'm bored." Said Siva at length.

The Arens began to bicker, Haestan turning his laughter into a cough. Evetually they stopped and Harald noticed them all looking at him for direction,

"Folgunthur." He announced.

There was a silence.

"What?" asked Savos presently.

"One of the books we were looking through at the College mentioned an ancient barrow at the Foot of Solitude." Seeing Savos looking suspiciously at him he continued on, "It said there was a magical artefact there." He hinted with a smile.

Savos eventually agreed and they walked down the town to the long slope, then turning to board a small row boat they chartered. They had picked up Yvette and Rollo on the way. Rollo seemed somewhat reluctant to come along, but he did eventually when Yvette said she was joining them. It was clear to Harald that the smith was infatuated with Yvette, though she was apparently oblivious. Harald couldn't see it himself, Yvette was certainly striking, but personally he wouldn't have called her beautiful.

Rowing across the Karth River made the journey much shorter, otherwise they would have had to travel down to Dragon Bridge at least to cross there, that being the only roadway out of Haadingar. No doubt there was some secret passageway down from the Blue Palace, but obviously they were not permitted to wander about in the seat of government. As it turned out Folgunthur was reasonably easy to find, the riverman they'd hired would wait for their return, and pointed them in the direction of the 'old barrow' away southeast of Solitude, coming to the barrow they saw a recently occupied camp, reading from an anonymous journal Savos informed them that someone had been carrying out research in the area.

The entrance was an arch of rock, architecture similar to Saarthal's and the barrow under Raven Rock that Harald had visited before. The door was of the same dark metal as he had encountered before also, and going inside the party lit torches and magelights, while Harald put a Night-Eye charm on himself to see in the dark. This turned out to be unnecessary, as they lit age old torches and braziers as they progressed. First there were large metal adornments covered in carvings, and several chandeliers which Siva lit with her flames.

They found many dead Draugr inside, and this puzzled them. They walked through another archway, and came to a larger hall with a stone table, some corpses seated at it like they were still eating. Here Draugr came to life again and they had to fight them off, but it was fairly easy, each party member taking one of the sarcophagi and re-killing the Draugr before they could stand and fight.

Climbing a decrepit and quite dangerous looking spiral staircase they progressed along to find a Dark Elf in robes crouching over a pedestal. He sprang to his feet as they approached, drawing a dagger and holding it threateningly toward them.

"Who are you? Coming to steal my research!" he screamed, jabbing the dagger in the air at them."

Harald smiled bemusedly, clearly the elf was out of his mind, he looked sallow and his eyes had dark circles under them. "Just a stalwart band of adventurers." He replied cheerfully.

The elf looked at them suspiciously, then flung the dagger at Harald, the throw was off and the knife landed on Harald's shoulder handle first, rather than piercing with the blade. Harald barely moved as the others drew weapons, the mad elf had readied himself to cast spells when something whistled past Harald's head and an arrow sprouted from his neck.

"Well then." Haestan said, pushing though the group to riffle in the Elf's pockets, pulling out a small bag of money that threw to Yvette who pocketed the bag, a drawn bow in her hand. Savos picked up a satchel and looked through that as well, he brought out a book, a journal written in a spidery script.

"This _was_ Daynas Valen." Savos summarised, poking the corpse lying against the pedestal, slowly leaking blood, "he acquired an 'Ivory Claw', look around for that in the bag Siva, from a collector in Bravil, and apparently learnt about a fragment of the amulet of the Arch-Mage Gauldur, who served Harald."

"Me?" Harald asked, looking up from the Ivory Claw that Siva had passed him.

"No, the High King." Said Savos, drawing his finger along the lines of the pages, the script being difficult to read. "so Valen was apparently quite mad, the last few pages are increasingly hard to read, the ink on this last line is still wet in fact: '_I have felt its power, calling to me, pulling at me. I will be the one to reclaim it, restore it, bear it out into the world once more. I must have it. I must!'_ So I assume if we didn't kill him someone else would have. Idiot."

"You've got a mean streak in you." Remarked Haestan from where he was kneeling.

"He was though."

"Fine."

Harald pressed forward, putting the claw into the three holes in the pedestal. He twisted it first to the left, and when that didn't work he tried the right. The lock gave and a bridge dropped over the gap.

"Draugr." Warned Haestan, standing and drawing his axe. Another arrow whistle through the air, catching the lead Draugr in the chest, the corpse snapped it off and staggered forward till Haestan sunk his axe into its skull, the sharp ebony cleaving it in two. The second Draugr, an archer shot and arrow at Harald, but he blocked it with his sword, then strode forward and chopped the archer's head off.

Further in Harald had to pull Savos back from being skewered with a dozen sharp spikes that shot out of the walls after he stepped on a pressure plate, but they swiftly made their way through the dungeon, killing any awakened Draugr that popped up. Haestan discovered a set of levers that opened a set of gates. When he pulled one lever a gate would open but a different one would close. Harald soon solved the puzzle, having seen its type before and they made their way down a slope, and, narrowly avoiding a cave-in went in through a door into another chamber.

Savos pulled a chain and Harald had to yank him back again to stop him from turning into a pincushion.

"Stop touching things." He growled at the Dunmer.

Solving another puzzle, consisting of rearranging a set of triangular stones with pictures on them, Harald lead the way down another staircase, being briefly plunged into darkness as the mages renewed their lights. Rollo had picked up one of the Draugr's swords and was examining the grain of the weapon, no doubt being interested in it on a professional level.

The bottom level was under a few inches of water, but they sloshed through, several spiders waited below but Yvette dispatched them from a distance before they could try to poison the group. Then, at the end of a long tunnel they were ambushed by more Draugr, who jumped arthritically out of their coffins and attacked them. Forming a line the group pressed forward, the Arens taking the flanks while Harald held the middle, they pressed the dead soldiers back, sustaining no injuries and came to another door.

As Harald worked this puzzle out he briefly considered his current abilities, he was only strong now, and had no superhuman abilities, but he could still fight, perhaps even more effectively now that he had his magic was restored. He was using the Bloodskal Blade, the tunnels being big enough for its length and he wielded it like a hand-and-a-half sword, using two handed strikes as well as single chops in combination with his magic. The red energy waves sliced through the crowd of Draugr as he ploughed through their formation. Rollo started to pester him about it after the battle, wanting to learn more about the weapon but Harald kept his silence, the smith annoyed him.

Eventually he worked out that he had to turn the large rings on the door to the sequence on the Claw, then turn the Claw itself, this opened the door and all the symbols turned to a dragon in flight and the door lowered into the floor. They went forward into the true Crypt, heading through the tunnels and into a larger hall.

Suddenly cracks and tremors split the roof, sunlight streamed in, bathing the newly awakened force of Draugr in light. One particular undead rose from a coffin in the centre and raised its sword to Harald, seeing him as the leader.

Harald accepted the unspoken challenge and he engaged the Draugr lord, its strength was incredible, some ancient magic giving it might little to be believed in such a thin and atrophied frame. Behind him the Arens stood back to back, throwing spells at the marching corpses while the others were engaged in their single battles. Harald staggered back, the Deathlord's blade clanging on his block, he fell, something tangled around his ankles, he looked down and saw half a Draugr, sliced in two at the waist clinging around his legs, trying to bite him. Acting on instinct he overpowered a Banisher Charm to send it flying away, impacting with a crunch on the far wall of the chamber, taking another two with it.

Around him the battle was turning, the dead being pushed back, however the leader still menaced him, driving him back against a wall. But that was his mistake, as his back was pressed against the wall, the Deathlord's blade locked on his Harald started to hear the Song, he understood it now, and could hear it both translated and in the original, echoing around his skull. He roared the words as he struck back at the Draugr, bring his sword round in a whirl and pressing his enemy back.

_**Hearken now, sons of snow, to an age, long ago!**_

The Bloodskal went down on the Draugr's block, sending him backwards, Harald pressed the advantage.

_**And the tale, boldly told, of the one!**_

Each brief sentence punctuated not with grammar but with sword strokes, the Draugr scrambled back, its blue eyes still blazing with anger at it's disturbed rest,

_**Who was kin to both wyrm, and the races of man,**_

Harald spun and drew his weapon in a wide arc, the red energy destroying three of the Thralls, he had come away from the wall, but the Song continued.

_**With a power to rival the sun!**_

He thrust the sword through the ribcage of the Deathlord, the blue eyes turned red and the body exploded, sending dust everywhere, his enemy's sword clattering to the ground.

Slowly Harald lowered the sword, he was panting heavily, not out of tiredness, but adrenaline filled his body, that was the most challenging fight he had had so far, the sword seemed to be draining his vitality as the Draugr struck at him. His companions gathered around him in various states of amazement at the combat, having finished their own battles some minutes before. His older friends like Haestan and the Arens looked surprised, but not alarmed, whilst Yvette's face showed a similar expression, no doubt seasoned by her experiences in the Companions. Rollo looked completely out of his depth.

Luckily none of them commented on it, apart from a few strange looks Harald was left to search through the dust for a similar Writ as the one he had recovered from Saarthal and Jyrik Gauldurson, this one identified the pile of dust as Mikrul Gauldurson, and Harald also took his sword, storing it in his back. Another fragment of the legendary Arch-Mage's amulet Harald put that in his pouch also. He knew Savos' propensity of doing things he probably shouldn't, so knew that it would be bad if he had the amulet's power, that and he was a fairly selfish person, after all, he was going to be fighting a 'Powerful Enemy' so he would need all the help he could get.

Unlocking a gate he walked up another set of stairs, and to the Word Wall he had heard. He absorbed the word, more easily this time and felt 'Cold' chime in his head, falling into place alongside 'Frost' from Eastmarch.

Haestan walked up and opened a chest, throwing Harald a pouch of gold, whilst he gave the other pieces of loot out to the others, the Arens got a pink crystal, Rollo got a large elegant sword, and Yvette took a green, brutal looking metal bow, and Haestan a pair of bracers which he donned, discarding his previous leather ones.

They arrayed themselves in their new equipment, shouldered their loot and followed Harald out the Wall chamber, through a tunnel, then waited while he kicked down the lid of standing sarcophagus. Using the Claw one last time they scavenged more gold from a trapped chest and left the dungeon. Harald was pleased to not they arrayed themselves in a natural formation around him for the boat without him having to tell them to, Haestan walking by his side as his lieutenant while the Arens flanked them, Yvette ranging ahead and Rollo bringing up the rear.

They boarded the boat as the sun rose to its zenith and slowly made their way back into dock at Solitude.

* * *

"Say it again!" insisted Haestan in a daze the next day.

"197,160 Septims."

"Say it again!" ordered Siva this time, bounding up and down on the grass in her excitement.

"197,160 Septims" Harald repeated indulgently, raising his glass of expensive Colovian Brandy to the group.

There was a roar of approval from the gathered crew and alcohol flowed like water, the sale had been immensely successful and all were happy.

There were 12 ingots in a crate, there were 53 crates in the small fleet, and that meant that they were selling 636 ingots to Istlod. At the standard price a single ingot would fetch 150 Septims, but it was not a standard market, the 'Ebony Crisis' had raised the price enormously and Istlod had been persuaded to buy at 310 pieces each. This meant that the price for all the ebony they had aboard was 197,160 Septims.

It was a mind boggling amount; they could have brought the three largest manors in Solitude as well as everything in them for the amount.

This sum was divided up of course, but it was still a fortune for the average man on the fleet. Winterhold was a poor town since the collapse, and their little adventure to Solstheim had revitalised the town immensely.

Harald himself would receive 65,720 Septims as Captain's cut, a third of the loot, whilst his officers, the Arens, Haestan and Yvette (whom he included in hope of retaining her services in a more permanent arrangement) and two other men who had distinguished themselves would get another third, each individually having 10,953 Septims each, along with any loot they had themselves, such as Haestan's axe or the crystals and books Savos recovered. This then meant that the 72 crew, not including the officers, would each get 913 Septims, as well as the countless jewels and other things they had picked up from the town as Harald was making his way through the bowels of Raven Rock. Harald thought this arrangement was somewhat unfair, as he was receiving a ridiculous amount, so he paid for the drinks and food for the crew for their stay there, as well as accommodation. However, this barely made a dent in his wealth, only accounting for a thousand Septims so far, and probably would only account for another thousand in the next few days they stayed in the Capital. This amount was more than made up by the countless gems that Harald had purloined from the Mine's strongboxes on their way in, no one else being able to break the locks.

So, in short, Harald was now fabulously wealthy.

He passed the evening away in a happy buzz, he was now more susceptible to alcohol, and he found he enjoyed the way the brandy warmed, but after the first glass he had no more of it, not wanting to pass out somewhere and someone to steal all his money. His metabolism still burned it off fast, but he didn't want to test himself just yet. He also found he required much more food, his magic was no longer completely sustaining him, it could, if he used no spells, but as he was a Wizard this would not be happening.

Later the next day he went to the Palace with his entourage and delivered the goods.

They walked along the wide green avenues leading to the end of the rock bridge the more upper class district was set on. They passed one large building from which a cacophony of music was coming.

"Bard's College!" yelled Haestan over the din and they hurried on, hands over their ears till they put several houses in between them and the aspiring musician's school.

The Blue Palace was an awe-inspiring monument, it was very ornate and bore some features typical of French or early Italian Renaissance building that Harald had visited on Earth. It also has Romanesque features such as the large domes instead of slanted roofs and some Gothic in the case of the ornamental battlements. Harald was most impressed, he had found the Palace of Kings, ostensibly the royal abode of the High Kings of Skyrim to be cramped and its walls oppressive, this was much more what he would expect from a King's Palace, though it was somewhat too stylised for his taste, if this and Castle Dour were crossed together it would have made the perfect building, towering walls surrounded by a mighty wall, speaking of both strength and refinement.

They were greeted inside the courtyard by a young man in rich clothing and a green half-cape who conducted them inside.

"Pelandor, personal steward and attendant to the Jarl's son." He introduced himself as they walked.

Pelandor took them to a large suite, a circular room with a balcony facing south. On the balcony another man sat, the steward signalled for them to halt, and approached the seated man and whispered in his ear. Pelandor then returned and escorted Harald to waiting seat.

"Harald of Winterhold?" the man asked.

"Of Atmora actually, but living in Winterhold." Replied Harald, the man hid his surprise well, "Do I have the pleasure of addressing Istlod of Solitude?" he asked.

"Indeed, I had not been able to place your accent." Replied Istlod, clasping Harald's arm.

Harald decided he liked Istlod, he had honest eyes, he stayed silent, then glanced down at a fruit bowl on a table set next to Istlod's chair.

"Pears in Skyrim?" he asked, holding out a hand and floating the fruit over to him.

"We have several glass-houses in the Palace, I prefer the oranges, though Pelandor is partial to grapes." Replied Istlod, taking an orange. Pelandor smiled and gave a little bow. "Please." the Jarl's son said, waving a hand at Harald.

Harald thanked him and took out a small paring knife from his belt and cutting off a slice of the fruit. He bit into it, releasing the sweet taste of the fruit flesh but the tart, almost sour taste of the skin. It was most excellent all the same, and he said so. Istlod thanked him kindly and offered a bunch of grapes to his steward, who declined.

"I would prefer to make the payment in several instalments." Said Istlod, "My father has not given the Treasury's permission as I have not informed him of the sale, therefore I am using my own vaults to finance the transaction."

"Most respectable, to use your own money." Noted Harald, throwing the core and stalk over the balcony. He felt the man's standing go up in his opinion, he was very young, but astute.

"I have 70,000 Septims in a room in the Palace, will that be suffice for the first payment?" Istlod asked.

"Certainly." Replied Harald happily, "I will give it to my men, myself and my subordinates can wait for their shares."

"Most respectable yourself." Istlod toasted, handing Harald a goblet of wine. He sipped at it, a fruity and smooth taste. "To look to the welfare of your men before your own."

Harald thanked the man for the compliment, "I shall deliver my entire shipment at once, however, I would be pleased if you would make another payment of at least another 60,000 soon, as I will have to pay my officers." He said, gesturing to the group on the other side of the chamber.

Istlod nodded magnanimously, "I will borrow from the Treasury then, the payment will be made later today, after your investiture."

"My investiture?" asked Harald.

Istlod waved the question off, "What of yourself? No doubt you would like to complete the deal?" he asked, goblet held aristocratically in one hand.

Harald wondered about the previous comment, but brushed it off, "I have money already." It was true; he did have a great deal of money, even without the sale of the Ebony he would be counted perhaps not as rich, but certainly well off.

At that moment Pelandor, who had apparently departed without Harald noticing him, returned, he whispered in Istlod's ear again and the Jarl's Son stood.

"They are ready for us." He remarked, and gestured for Harald to follow him.

Siva sent him a questioning look and he shrugged at her. His retinue fell in with him, and they followed Istlod out of the southern wing of the Palace, across the courtyard and into a different wing. It was still pleasantly bright and the sunlight streamed in through the tall narrow windows that covered the walls of the place. Inside was a small entrance hall with a guard at the end who saluted when he say Istlod, the floor was tiled and carpeted in part and they ascended one of a pair of staircases that lead up to the High King's Throne Room. The room was draped in banners, either the dragon of the Empire, or the Wolf's head of Haafingar and Solitude.

Utred himself sat on a slight dais in a wooden throne, much like the Jarl's Throne Kjark sat in. Perhaps they ordered them from the same place. The High King and Jarl of Solitude wore an impressively embroided set of ceremonial clothes, they were a sort of long jacket in a pale blue with black fur trimming the collar and similarly made trousers and other clothes. A shaft of light shone on the dias.

There was a woman speaking passionately in the middle of the room.

"My King," she said, "the people need aid!"

Utred looked stern. "If the folk of the Rift will rebel against their Jarl it is not my place to interfere in their affairs."

"But the grain stores are burned and Lake Honrich is polluted with ash." Said the woman.

"Hosgunn Crossed-Daggers governed justly and rightly, in accordance with the laws of the Nine Divines."

"He was a tyrant! The Jarl kept raising the taxes and putting them into his own coffers" raged the petitioner, her eyes streaming with angry tears. "If you will not help us I will find a real Jarl who will!" She spat on the floor before the Jarl and then she stomped away, rushing down the stairs.

As the court reordered itself after the woman's outrage Harald leant over to Istlod.

"What was that about?" he asked.

"Some woman from the Rift, the people there had rebelled against their Jarl, who was in fact a tyrant, regardless of the 'just' nature of his rule. Most of the city burned down but my father refuses to send help their way." Istlod explained angrily, seeming to be worn down by the callousness of his father.

"Send them ten thousand out of my cut of the ebony." Said Harald, he himself could not go to Riften, as he was busy, but he could help the people in other ways, he had found that giving money was often the only way of helping disaster relief without exceeding one's jurisdiction.

"Really?" said Istlod, turning full to him.

"I am a simple man; I use my sword to solve most problems." Harald said slapping his hilt, "Yet if I cannot use that I will use the gold I won with it."

Istlod clapped him on the shoulder excitedly, "If you can wait another month I can match that sum, and maybe send a Legion contingent to keep the peace."

Harald nodded, Istlod was impressing him, the man seemed not to have been smothered by the bureaucracy of Imperial influence, but worked with it, however he still kept the deep held honour of the Nordic people. If he succeeded his father he would be a good King.

"Harald of Winterhold and Istlod of Solitude." Announced a herald to the chamber.

"I know my own son." Grumbled the King, but beckoned them forward.

Still not actually knowing what this was about Harald walked forward in step with Istlod. They bowed in concert before the Throne, giving no supplication but acknowledging his high status.

"At my son's recommendation for services to the people of Solitude and Haafingar I award you the rank of Thane of Solitude, take now this blade and use it to protect the people as you fulfil your duties." Said Utred, waving a steward to proceed with a scabbard and sword.

The steward handed the sword to Istlod who buckled it around Harald's waist, Harald bowed to the King, then left with Istlod, they came outside the Palace where Harald's group were waiting, seeing the sword Rollo congratulated him on his new rank. The rest of course wanted a look so Harald drew it and handed it around. It was a steel longsword, well-forged, though not apparently by Rollo. There was a stencilled 'Haafingar' written across the blade on the fuller, picked out in gold filigree that ran down the blade to the hilt and pommel, which ended in a wolf's head, carved from ivory. Harald liked it immensely, he had been wishing for the type of sword he had trained with, a longsword, like the Sword of Gryffindor. The Bloodskal and his paired ebony swords were good for certain situations, notably taking on crowds of enemies, but the Bloodskal was not easily used alongside allies, as the energy waves might hurt them as easily as the enemy, while his disliked the ebony swords because they were curved, also because they required a style of fighting relying on great speed and agility, whilst he had these traits he could not hammer through his blows, and instead slashed and stabbed at the enemy.

The Blade of Haafingar on the other hand would allow itself to be held in a single hand, casting spells with the other, it could slash, stab and hack at an enemy and Harald was eager to try it out.

Istlod passed the sword back once the group had all tried a few swings with it.

"I assume this was your idea?" he asked as he sheathed the blade.

Istlod smiled, "It was, my father wished to know why the Ebony Crisis was suddenly solved, after I told him he wanted to reward you, as he could not think of anything I suggested a title, it should ease your dealings with the citizens, and generally make your job easier."

"My job?"

"You adventurers generally have some kind of purpose, I have no doubt Solitude will be seeing you again, perhaps not soon, but eventually, and adventurers generally serve good, I also serve that cause, in my own way." Said Istlod.

Harald grinned, he extended an arm, hand open. "Friend?" he asked.

Istlod clasped the arm, his grip was sure and strong and they released, "Friend." The Prince confirmed.

Harald had an idea. Though most of Solitude had been infected with the more cosmopolitan ideas, Istlod seemed to hold true to some of the Old Ways. He took one of the rings from his arm, a gold one, and gave it over to Istlod. The Jarl's son looked solemn and slipped it over his arm.

"Come visit sometime." Said Istlod as Harald turned to leave.

"I will." Harald called back as he walked off, turning and raising a hand.


	11. A Form of Immortality

_cdog21 : I'll admit that Siva/Harry is the most likely pairing to happen, though it will be fairly far off if it does, but I also imagine them as a couple, I'm definitely not planning to kill her off at any point._

* * *

Harald's mare came to the summit of a hill and reared, he leant forward, face against the animal's mane as he kept his seat.

Leaving Solitude after the officers and crew had been paid by Istlod they had passed under the shadow of a watchtower on their way to the stables. There was some debate on whether to rent horses, as was a custom in Skyrim, or take the slower wagons. Eventually they decided to take the horses, as Thane of two Holds Harald was allowed to do this at once, without the usual background check that the stable hands made to make sure he wasn't going to steal the horses. They rode down the road at a light canter, Harald looked out across the river toward Hjaalmarch and Morthal, the fens of the eastern bank of Karth River leading away out into a morning mist covering the land up a forest of sentinel pines.

Then through the thatched wooden houses of Dragon Bridge and across the town's namesake, the stone towering over them, a dragon's skull in model and pillars like its curling horns. They raced the horses along the road again, hurdling over a fallen tree in the road, the gales of Siva's laughter filling the air like music. Across another stone bridge, this one less impressive and past a waterfall, little salmon jumping their way up it. They passed a small mixed herd of elk and deer and Yvette wanted to hunt with her bow, but Harald would hear none of it, unless she was willing to eat or put to use the entire carcass he wouldn't countenance senseless slaughter.

However, a lone wolf followed them for some time, Harald did allow the Companion to shoot that, she did so, a magnificent shot from the running horse. Rollo, who had tagged along, wanting to go back to Jorrvaskr to visit the home of the Companions after his long absence, slung the body over his saddle pommel.

They seemed to Harald to be climbing up into the Reach's mountains, but it was not so, they passed a signpost with directions to the different Hold capitals stencilled on it and took the 'Whiterun' arrow, ridding up a winding path over the hills. They came out at a small hunting lodge, apparently abandoned at the moment, they rested the horses here for a few hours, the Companions rubbing them down and feeding them oats.

Harald never knew why one had to 'rub down' a horse, but as he had people to do it for him it didn't matter.

Haestan might have been able to explain it, but the steersman had been dispatched to take the ships back to Winterhold, as Harald doubted he would be traveling back to Solitude in the near future, his journey plans taking him increasingly further away from the capital.

After they departed the lodge Harald scorned the road, driving his horse across the tundra. The red and orange grass of winter covered the land for miles, only occasional trees or bushes spoiling the glorious view. Harald needed no directions, having seen a map before and now he knew that Whiterun was north and a little east of the Throat of the World, its top still wreathed in cloud.

They passed a fort, raising a hand to the watchers there and skirted round a known giant camp, helpfully pointed out by Yvette, after this they re-joined the road and made for what Rollo remembered to be the Western Watchtower of Whiterun, looking out over the fields, a banner floating in the wind from a flagstaff at the top.

Harald then had his first glimpse of a mountainous bluff that housed Whiterun. It was indistinct from this distance but Yvette gave a great woop of joy and spurred her horse onwards, Harald thoughts as they came closer were that someone wanted to call their lawyer.

"Edoras, and the golden hall of Meduseld." He muttered to himself in a deep voice. He had of course seen Lord of the Rings, and enjoyed it, even if the phrase 'A wizard is never late' was used on him many a time when he demanded to know the reason for his employees tardiness during his time as Head Auror.

As he rode along the road and up the winding road up to the gates, Secunda, the smaller of Nirn's two moons was just cresting over the Throat of the World's northern face, lit and reflecting the crimson light of the sun, setting over the Reach.

Harald was quickly waved through after presenting their credentials to the gatekeepers, Yvette was even recognised by one and asked about her adventures. The Companion began pointing out the sights as they went through up toward Jorrvaskr where they would be staying as guests of the Companions.

"The Drunken Huntsman." Pointed Yvette to an inn on the left, "Breezehome, been empty for years that, now the market, looks like its closing down for now, then there's the Bannered Mare, better talk but worse drink than the 'Huntsman."

They walked up a set of steps to the 'Wind District' This housed the famous families of Battle-born and Gray-Mane, known thoughout Skyrim and elsewhere for their skills in mercantile and smithing affairs. Harald noted that almost every house had a small carved horse head at the summit of each end of the roof, and each house was almost a hall in and of itself. They came to a huge tree, its blossoms pink and floating in the wind.

"The Gildergreen, sacred to Kyne." Said Rollo, using the old Nordic name for the goddess of nature.

Harald was more interested in the shrine to Talos just next to the tree. He crossed over a small stream then touched the shrine and knelt in front of the statue, a copy of the one in the temple in Windhelm. He thanked Talos in his mind for the sending of Wulfharth, who Harald assumed was responding to his prayer to Talos, and held the coin he had been given in his hand. He rose and walked back to the group, replacing the coin in his pouch. None of the others were particularly pious, except perhaps Siva, who worshiped the gods of her ancestors more out of duty than belief.

Above them was the Cloud District with the large Hall of Dragonsreach, where Olaf One-Eye had trapped the great dragon Numinex, his visit there could wait till the next day, he was tired from riding as it was and wanted to be operating at optimal efficiency when he looked at the dragon skull. Instead of Dragonsreach they walked up the double stair to Jorrvaskr, the ancient and honoured mead hall of the Companions. Built by Jeek of the River and his twenty two sailors out of their longboat, the original _Jorrvaskr_ after Ysgramor commanded them to colonise the land. They discovered the Skyforge, an ancient smithy even by the standards of Ysgramor and the builders Menro and Manwe had laboured to create the hall with the very timbers that made up their ship that had carried them from the far north.

Harald had read about all this in the Arch-Mages's _Songs of the Return_, which proved a useful primer for the meeting with the Companions.

The doors to the mead hall were old oak banded with iron wrought in the shape of dragon's heads, Yvette took the lead and pushed it open, while Rollo followed her in, after them came Harald and the Arens after him.

"Yvette! Rollo!" came a joyous yell from inside, Harald peered over Rollo's shoulders to see a tall, dark haired man with the area around his eye sockets tattooed black running toward them.

"Jergen." Greeted Yvette stonily, Rollo sighed, apparently they didn't like the man.

As Jergen neared Harald saw that he was barely more than a teenager, a stubbly beard growing under his chin. Perhaps this was another of Yvette hapless suitors, from Rollo's attitude toward the man it seemed to be.

As it turned out the rest of the Companions apart from Olaf Gray-Mane (who was busy making weapons) were away on assignments, even the Harbinger, Rollo muttered how they probably disliked being around Jergen so much they'd left, Yvette snickered, seemingly confirming the theory.

The interior of Jorrvaskr was cavernous. The roof was high, large beams around the Hall keeping it up. Jergen gave them a tour, pointing out three fragments of the fabled Wuuthrad, axe of Ysgramor.

After Jergen went off to do some errand Yvette explained properly.

"No one likes Jergen." She said, unnecessarily. "He ran from battle several times, and Askar, the Harbinger, only let him return after extensive trials of combat, we only keep him because he's dammed good with a sword. "

"If you allow cowards," asked Harald, deliberately provoking her, "What does it mean to be a Companion?"

She was stumped at that, but recovered quickly, "It means a family that has your back,"

"Aye," put in Rollo who joined the conversation after fetching them drinks, "Most here lost their own families, so this is our family now, the brotherhood."

"And fighting for gold." Continued Yvette.

"And glory."

"It's a form of immortality, even if we never sit in Shor's Hall we are recoded along with our deeds in the annals of history." Yvette concluded. "We preserve the legacy of Ysgramor through the ages, four thousand years this Hall has stood, and we are but the latest in a long line of Companions.

Her words gave Harald many things to consider. He would ask to join these Companions tomorrow, they could be useful to his operation, and he liked the idea of a family, even if they were a band of drunken louts.

He bade them goodnight and went to bed, his dreams filled with mammoths and giants, wolves and hunters.


	12. Beating and Bonding

_**Moss**__: Not every guild, Harry'd fundamentally object to the Dark Brotherhood on principle, but the others are possibilities, he's sort of a de facto member of the College as he's learning from the Arens and the Arch-Mage lets him wander about everywhere. I might write down his inventory at some point, but he does have a lot of stuff, like in Deathly Hallows whenever they needed something Hermionie would have it in her handbag._

_It's somewhat of an author troupe, and it even appears in Skyrim with the weird weight ratios, on the Helgen Escape I seemed to carry out the entire inventories of the Imperial garrison and ran a mile with it all to Riverwood_

_**Makurayami**__: Might include __Jyggalag __later then, if I think of some way to do so, at the moment I can't so it's probably not happening._

_Thanks for the other review from people, if I don't address them in a PM I'll do it in the AN section of the next chapter._

_I'd like to thank Rob Roy for the swordfight at the start of this chapter, as I basically wrote down what happens in that scene._

* * *

"Ready!"

Harald blinked back sweat out of his eyes; in comparison with the previous day's mildness this one's heat was oppressive. He squinted through the padded helmet's eyeholes, wishing they'd allowed him to use his own.

"Go!" called Grey-mane from the rocky ledge of the Skyforge, signalling them to start.

Jergen danced around him, slim figure side face, slim smile sneering, slim sword outstretched, stabbing at him.

Harald batted it aside and made a slash at Jergen, but the man danced back, smiling. He came forward again, alternately making stabs at Harald's feet, then at his head and so on.

They broke for a moment, Harald turning to match the Companion as he circled.

Harald moved forward, two ineffective strikes that missed, Jergen ducking under them. As Harald blocked a strike from above the Companion's blade slashed along his torso, cutting through the practice armour and gliding along his ribs, he felt a stinging pain but knew the blood would soon clot. As he held one and to his side Jergen turned away from him, grinning up at the spectators, he made a demonstrative cut at the air, then turned to Harald again.

Jergen ran forward, feigning left but cutting right, spinning and dancing around, pushing Harald back with the speed of his strokes. They were mismatched, anyone could see, Harald was certainly the stronger, and his Haafingar blade the better, but Jergen was incredibly fast, seeming to flit between strikes. Harald wondered if he had elf blood in him.

The test was not to the death, but only to choose whether he was worthy to join the Companions, as such he was not allowed to use his other weapons, as they were of superior quality to the Companions' weapons, much as Gray-Mane was loath to admit. Nor was he allowed his armour, and both men were now dressed in a light dueling array, mostly leather and woolen padding.

Jergen ducked under an overhand cut, span again and sliced into Harald's arm, the blade cut and he bled freely.

Harald was growing impatient.

It was somewhat of a stalemate; Jergen could prance about all he liked; only inflicting small wounds on Harald, but not being able to win as Harald guarded his chest, preventing a telling thrust. But by the same token, Jergen would dodge or parry his strikes, never blocking, preventing Harald from pressing him into a corner or breaking the thinner blade with a stroke.

As this test was supposed to be honourable, Harald was not enhancing himself in any way, as he might against a faster and more agile opponent on the battlefield, nor was he using magic, again, as was his custom normally.

Most fights were really just flailing about, as most warriors wore armour they were reasonably well protected from attacks, especially those of a slashing or cutting nature. These would slide off chainmail or plate, only piercing attacks, from warhammers or the point of a sword would reach the skin. This was not to say people were not hurt, a sword stroke, even if it did not penetrate, could still break bones.

This _duel_ however was not a proper fight, and was designed to provide a test of skill. It was certainly doing that. Harald was struggling to apply proper technically style to his attacks while Jergen darted about, giving him the Death of a Thousand Cuts. His opponent was using the time honoured tradition of 'being where the enemy isn't' and he was succeeding, he ducked under horizontal cuts, backed away from diagonals and thrusts and he side stepped vertical slashes.

Harald was also tiring fairly quickly, he actually wanted to fight this as another aspirant would, so he had sealed off his magic for the morning, painting a particular rune on his solar plexus to neutralise it. The seal would wear out in around an hour, as his magic was particularly strong, but he thought an hour would be enough time to fight the duel.

Jergen's expression was vexing Harald as well. The Companion kept smirking at him as he dodged the blows. Then after each small bout he would smile up at the audience, all gathered around the Skyforge's edge. Harald glanced up once and saw in interesting sight.

Savos looked on disinterest, preening his nails, unimpressed at the physical contest, valuing intellect above martial prowess.

Yvette looked angry, Rollo sullen.

Siva's brows were furrowed in worry, but her eyes were unclouded, knowing it was only a test; still, her hands were buried in her sleeves. Good to see someone was concerned.

Olaf Grey-mane, the 'referee' of the match was looking on in interest,

Judging from Yvette's expression and Jergen's smirk Harald though that perhaps his opponent was trying to impress the woman, no doubt Jergen considered him to be 'competition' for Yvette's affections. Regardless of the truth of this assumption (it wasn't), Jergen seemed to be playing with him, trying to show him up.

Well, thought Harald as he repeatedly slashed at the Companion, if Jergen wanted to play at fighting, Harald would oblige him.

Harald planned his next combo to steadily drive Jergen's block farther apart from his core, with each strike the Companion's blade would be knocked further from his original position, leaving Harald time for his next move.

On the last strike Harald let go of the Haafingar Blade, knowing he couldn't bring it round fast enough for another hit. It flew away somewhere to his right, he heard it clattering against the stone. There was a gasp from one of the spectators above and a spark of triumph in Jergen's eyes, the man thinking he had disarmed Harald.

Harald felt the familiar burning in his throat, he wanted to Shout, to dominate the man, Jergen's constant dance was aggravating in the extreme, and Harald leapt forward, arms around Jergen's waist in an iron circle. He bore the smaller man to the ground, the Companion's head banging on the ground. Then something took hold, a roaring in his chest and he straddled Jergen, pinning his arms by his sides and hammering blow after blow into the sneering face.

He heard shouts to stop, that the fight was over, but he continued to punch the Companion, his leather training gloves weighting his hits, a scuffle came from above, one voice shouted indistinctly that Jergen deserved what he was getting.

Harald stopped, leant back. The damage was done, and he had won, that was the important thing. He smiled, more of a sneer really, in the part of his mind that wasn't taken over by righteous anger Harald noticed he was actually offended by the bloodied man's attitude toward him in the fight. Even his swordplay seemed dishonest. Perhaps this would get him out of the Companions for good.

Harald hefted Jergen by his collar, then dropped him back down. The young man's face was streaming with blood, his nose was broken, both lips split, the top completely down the middle, he had two black eyes and when he turned his head he spat out the broken shards of a tooth.

True, he hadn't meant to do that far, and he was sorry for it, perhaps he felt even a little shame; he seemed to be doing that increasingly, losing his control, letting emotion get in the way. He had thought he'd abandoned emotion, kept it locked away, logic had taken hold. But since his arrival, he seemed to feel everything so much more strongly, the anger, both honest and the tyrannical. He had felt a need to win at anything, a selfishness that took hold whenever he had the briefest desire for something.

Harald didn't bother to look up to see the verdict, breathing heavily he tore off the suffocating helmet, throwing it away, he staggered back inside Jorrvaskr, rapidly running down into the living quarters to his room.

It was the Dragon Blood, it had to be, he had read of the will to dominate of the _Dovah_, the Dragonkind. The Atmorans had worshiped the animal spirits, and greatest amongst those spirits was the Dragon, the shadow of the sun, the roar in the sky. Known as _drah-gkon_ in the ancient Nordic tongue, from which the modern word emerged. The _Dovah_, as the vessels of Akatosh's will to the Nords dominated them through the Dragon Priests, men who kept their positions using their great knowledge of magic, these Priests demanded tribute in return for keeping the peace, creating laws which provided a symbiosis between the two races.

In Tamriel, their role changed. The texts were unclear on the cause, but whichever way, the Dragon Priests began to rule with an iron fist, making slaves of the rest of the population. This was the way of the _Dovah_, worshipers said the just way, might was right; and dragon was mightier than a human.

For the men had no Voice.

To dragons, the Voice was everything, the strongest would rule, the title 'Thuri' – Overlord was conferred on the Dragon with the strongest Thu'um.

When Kyne gave the Nord's their Voice they started to win against the dragons, there was a fragment of a manuscript by Talos himself, dictated to his Battlemage, containing extensive theories on the nature of the Dragonborn. The manuscript was incomplete, and the most he could make from the commentaries on it was that one of the primary reasons Talos had become Emperor was his will to dominate, coming from the aspect of Akatosh he had within him.

Harald knew he had the same aspect, he felt it in battle, when the Song was up, at first only around the Word Walls, but he had started to hear the whispers of it when he was fighting Jergen. Perhaps it was a superiority complex, though not without reason. Even on Earth he had had a problem with authority, he broke rules, disobeyed orders.

But through it all he became his own authority, and answered only to his friends. He was undisputed the greatest Wizard since Merlin, according to the Press at least, Dumbledore had died before Harald had an opportunity to test that theory, and Voldemort, who was estimated to be a shade magically stronger than Dumbledore was defeated by Harald when he was still young.

Now he had this Dragon Soul, adding to that superiority, to that _need_ to be the strongest.

Harald decided then to never enter a contest not to the death, he was too fearful of losing himself, of losing control.

"You passed."

Harald looked up; Yvette was standing in the doorway, arms folded.

"I did?" he asked with some surprise, he assumed they would disqualify him for either going too far in the beating or using his fists instead of the sword.

Yvette nodded, "Just about, Jergen, once he regained consciousness, was against it, saying you cheated. Rollo then pointed out that since you didn't use magic or dishonest means you still passed, with flying colours actually."

"And Grey-mane?" Harald asked after considering.

"Bowed before the facts," she said candidly, "I spoke for you."

"My thanks."

Yvette gave a short laugh, like a bark, "There's a reason me and Rollo weren't in Jorrvaskr when you found us. He always followed me around the Hall. And Rollo hates him because he likes me as well."

"Quite the love triangle you've got there." Harald said flippantly, in actuality he was feeling quite sorry for Jergen, he would have to try and make up the beating to the boy later on, if Jergen would allow him to.

"Don't you start" Yvette told him. "The only reason I've stayed with your little group this long is you seem to be immune to my charms."

"What charms would these be?" Harald asked back innocently, enjoying the banter.

Yvette threw a fruit bowl at him, then walked off laughing.

"Find me a job in Ivarstead!" he called after her.

Harald spent the rest of the day in higher spirits, he watched Jergen from afar, it turned out his wounds were not deliberating, but they would ruin his looks. Well, Yvette would thank him for that at least. He did not try to approach Jergen to apologise until later in the day. Jergen accepted it, or rather, he gave a stiff nod at Harald's words, and ignored him otherwise. Harald took that as a good sign, and accepted a contract to kill a giant just east of Whiterun. He went with Yvette, his other companions having already fallen asleep. They walked in darkness, both restless. Taking an Imperial garrisoned stone bridge across White River they came to the camp. There turned out to be three giants there, rather than the reported one. Yvette soon made that two with a well-placed arrow while Harald, his magic inhibiting seal having long since worn away, engaged them with the Bloodskal. Though the giants were no doubt incredibly strong, they were quite slow. They roared in their guttural language, trying to strike Harald who flanked them easily, running between one's legs and stabbing at its groin before jumping on its back and taking its head off with his sword. Yvette peppered the other with arrows, their points lodging in its leathery hide, and the red energy of the Bloodskal bisected it into smoking pieces.

Returning to Jorrvaskr a few hours before dawn they collapsed in their respective beds and slept until late in the next day. When they awoke Harald discovered that Askar, the Harbinger (apparently not the leader but an 'advisor') returned with his party of five, bringing back sacks of ore as reward for clearing out a troll infested mine in the Rift.

"Heard you'd been asking about a job in Ivarstead?" asked Askar, coming up to Harald as he lunched.

The Harbinger was a swarthy, short, Nord, but very broad in the shoulders, he had Reachman blood in him, Harald reckoned, and a great orange beard that you could hide a goat in. He dropped onto the bench next to Harald, his orange hair being lightened further, looking like the burning coals in the fire pit that was surrounded by the arrangement of benches in Jorrvaskr.

"Heading out that way." Said Harald as he mopped a wooden bowl of stew with a chunk of torn bread.

"Heard you beat up Jergen in your initiation."

"Went too far, going to make it up to him."

"Good to see Ysgramor's legacy hasn't dimmed across the far sea."

It seemed Askar wanted to make sure Harald wasn't about to steal the organisation out from under him. Harald wasn't, but he could see why the Harbinger was suspicious of him. If he wasn't Thane of two Holds and wore openly the symbol of one he might have been questioned more about his origins. To be fair to the man, Harald was planning on 'claiming' Saarthal for himself, he just hadn't gotten round to it yet.

Long story short, there were rumours of a barrow out on Lake Geir. Askar wanted Harald to take a 'shield sibling' to 'Prove his Honour' and clear the barrow out, if he did this he would become a fully-fledged member of the brotherhood, entitled to use the services of the Grey-mane smiths.

As Harald walked down the steps of Jorrvaskr with Jergen (his chosen Companion on this mission, Askar wanting them to make peace) he briefly wondered if Olaf was happy in limiting his trade to the Companions. Though, in balance, Harald supposed that considering the amount of fighting they did, the Grey-mane's were probably kept in brisk trade repairing and making equipment for the fighters.

The trip to Ivarstead was uneventful, the only vaguely interesting thing the two encounter on their silent march being a troll that Jergen dispatched before Harald even noticed it. In the time Harald managed to earn himself some points with the man by healing his facial wounds and admitting that Jergen would have won the duel.

The Companion smiled at that, and after gaining assurances that Harald had no designs on Yvette's heart he told Harald to leave him a few of the cuts, citing the possibly advantage they might give him with the opposite sex.

The silence after that became more amicable as the two men exchanged stories:

"I fought a dragon when I was fourteen." Boasted Harald.

"You did not, I name you liar." Refuted Jergen as he accepted a hand up a ledge they were climbing over rather than going around.

Harald laughed, "Aye, perhaps, more like running away from it. I had to steal its egg, it was a contest."

"Dragons don't lay eggs."

They didn't? Well that was news to Harald, evidently they were significantly more supernatural on Nirn.

"No, a golden egg, as in artificial." Harald demonstrated the dimensions of the egg with his hands.

Jergen looked moderately impressed, "How did it go?" he asked, looking sidelong at Harald.

"Alright I suppose, tore up my arm though on its tail. The others got pretty badly burned, but the healers gave them a salve for it." Harald explained, reminiscing back to the desperate turns on his Firebolt away from the Horntail.

"Did you win?"

"Tied first place," Harald said, improvising, "The dragon escaped during it so they didn't give me the first place, but the other guy got half his face burnt off, so he didn't win either."

"What happened to it?" asked Jergen, after all, few people could boast about a dragon, even second hand.

"My father Beowulf killed it, it killed him as well, but it was still dead so he won." Answered Harald, weaving the saga of the Geatish warrior into his narrative. It was in fact Dumbledore who had recaptured the dragon along with Hagrid and some of the dragon tamers, and Harald did indeed think of the old Wizard as a father figure, the hero-worship had faded over time, especially after Skeeter's book came out, but he had summoned Dumbledore's shade many times over the years, admiring the man's great wisdom, if not his unfortunate propensity to consider people as chess pieces.

Jergen said nothing, like giving thanks, Nords did not go in for condolences. If one heard of a friend's death from their family member the Nord would give a compliment of their valour or prowess, and raise a horn of mead in their name, but as Nords did not pretend to care about strangers, not knowing them, their code of honesty would prevent them from giving meaningless platitudes.

Jergen did not know his father, the man having disappeared in his early years, possibly to a war, or the bottom of a bottle, and Jergen's family was not the Companions, Askar having picked him up around Markarth area, working caravan guard for merchants and travellers.

Eventually one night just outside of Ivarstead, Jergen proposed another duel.

Harald being mindful of his earlier promise to himself disagreed at first, but was persuaded by Jergen's enthusiasm, though the Companion insisted they use sticks and that Harald tied his to his wrist. Harald finally agreed won the first bout after Jergen's weapon snapped in two on the second hit. Jergen laughed it off and found another, then proceeded to triumph over Harald for the rest of their stick fights. This aided their bonding more and Harald learned a few tricks of the sword under Jergen's patient tutelage, while Harald in turn educated him on the world, basing the instruction on his long life. He took the Companion under his wing as it were, an oddly appropriate metaphor, given that Harald heard not a peep from the Song. Under the influence of his humanity, his dragon soul seemed to have identified Jergen as a friend, and for that Harald was thankful.

They found Ivarstead to be a dreary little town, covered in a mist that had crept north from the mountains. They rented a single room in the local inn, throwing their packs and excess equipment there, Harald not bothering as his pouch was _Imperturbable_ as well as being virtually containing all his belongings. No one had commented on his lack of luggage yet, perhaps the Anti-Awareness charm he had cast on it also made people forget about him not having a bag. Either way, Harald wasn't about to alert anyone to it, and they walked down to the lakeside, taking off any pieces of unnecessary armour so as to not weigh them down. Harald could have walked across the water with the air of a few charms, but there were witnesses so he didn't.

The water was cold but not freezing, and the two swiftly swam across, Harald using a slow front crawl while Jergen dog-paddled confidently but inefficiently. The far bank was rocky, and they climbed up easily, passing over mossy boulders and around a circle of standing stones and into a cave. Jergen assumed this was the barrow, and did not care either way, refusing to go wandering around in sodden clothes. Jergen then disappeared and Harald heard an echoing splash. Finding a hole in the ground and being assured of the water's depth by the surprised Jergen he jumped down to. They tried a locked door at the bottom, not being able to open it until Harald prised it open with a metal bar lying on the floor. Jergen lent his strength against it as well and the door creaked open. Inside they encountered spiders and traps, both of which failed to stop them as they made their way through the barrow, the now recognisable architecture informing them that this was in fact the barrow they were supposed to be in.

Underneath Jergen fought Draugr spellswords until Harald figured out the animal stones puzzle, and pulling on a lever they walked on up some stairs and along several corridors, fighting more Draugr on their way, the dead falling easily before them. Jergen actually had to borrow one of their axes, as no matter how many times he pierced them with his rapier they kept coming, having no blood left to spill through the tiny holes he was poking in them.

They encountered a corpse, though not of Draugr type, clutching a shiny key. Harald recovered a note from the body, identifying it as Lord Geirmund, Battlemage, no doubt who Lake Geir was named for. Harald read a few staves of the next lines, and realised with excitement that this was the barrow Savos had identified from the mad Dumner's research notes in Folgunthur. He was on the path to recovering the last of the amulet fragments.

They wisely decided not to pull an enticing lever, as there were several large holes in the wall just before it, obviously holding spikes that shot out as Jergen used a rope to pull the lever instead, on the off chance that it would bring the nearby bridge down so they could walk across. Harald suggested jumping, but it was too far for the Companion, and at that moment Harald was still trying to deal honestly with the Companions as an organisation so he did not make use of his heightened physiology to leap the gap. Eventually Jergen had the idea of throwing an axe to the bridge. The blade embedded itself in the aged wood, they hauled on the rope and presently there was a snap from the other side and the bridge fell down. Another Draugr ambushed them as they crossed by Harald threw it off the bridge and it tumbled to the floor below, breaking in half over a jagged rock.

Confronting several more enemies they reached the final chamber, this seemed to be an ending place, and consisted of several raised rock platforms surrounded by a shallow subterranean lake, each with a short stair up to the top.

Jergen mounted up the steps as Harald inspected one of the platforms. He jumped up when he heard the cracking of a Draugr sarcophagus opening near Jergen and a warning shout from the Companion. He saw an armoured Draugr, as tall as a Deathlord, but holding a bow with arrows. Jergen made to stab at him but the undead soldier was swallowed by whirl of purple light, disappearing and Jergen's sword point meeting air.

"It disappeared!" called the Companion in superfluous amazement.

Harald caught a slight shimmer and hum from out of the corner of his senses, he turned, drawing his sword as he did so.

"Teleporter!" Harald called, he sliced through the Draugr's neck, the body fading away in to nothing. Harald was puzzled at the lack of resistance till something punched into his shoulder.

It was an arrow, sent by another archer, this one identical to the first, Harald picked up the arrow it had shot at him, the shaft bouncing off his armour, and threw it at the Draugr, the missile went straight through it, and the spectre disintegrated.

"Doppelgänger!" Harald called to Jergen who was seemingly fighting another copy.

"What?!" the man shouted back, dodging a kick.

"He's replicating himself, look for the purple hue around it's body!"

"This one doesn't have a purple hue!" Jergen yelled back, trying to strike the Draugr before it readied its bow.

"That's the real one!" Harald called, kicking a spray of water across the chamber to disrupt two more clones, "Keep him pinned!"

He ran up the stone stair to the Jergen to assist him, they backed the Draugr into a corner; he discarded his bow, drawing a sword. Then, when he finally had his back against the wall he seemed to draw breath, his chest inflated, his head went back, then he arched forward quickly.

_Fus…Ro Dah!_

Harald was sent flying across the chamber, too late recognising the Shout in progress, he flew into a wall, bashing his head, he seemed to go unconscious for a second, as when he awoke the Deathlord was advancing menacingly on him, lying against the wall. As the Harald raised his sword to ward off the blow Jergen, recovered from the Shout tacked the Draugr from the side, wrestling with him in the shallow water with the intent of drowning the guardian by pressing his head down. Harald quickly pushed himself up and sliced off a hand grasping for the Companion's neck, then as Jergen leant back he beheaded it.

Jergen rolled off it into the water.

"Well that was busy." He said, a dazed smile on his face.

"What day is it?" asked Harald.

"Morndas, why?"

"Checking for concussion."

Harald extended a hand and hauled the young man up, praising him for holding off the Draugr and almost defeating the guardian. Harald examined the body, this one's Writ of Sealing, if his guess that this was one of the Gauldursons, was ruined, a sodden mass of paper, but he recovered the amulet, now he had all three, and all that was rest was to reforge the necklace. But that was for another day, he had things to do at the moment and it would have to wait for him to converse with Savos, who still had the researcher's notes if he remembered correctly.

More importantly, he had learned and experienced his first Shout. He knew two of the words, _Fus_ and _Dah_, meaning 'Force' and 'Push' respectively; the effect was obvious; it Pushed the target with Force.

Harald wanted to attempt it, he looked down, holding the meaning of the word in his mind:

"_Fus" _he whispered into the water. He thought he saw a bluish wave coming from his mouth, and the pressure on his throat was relived. But more importantly, the water _rippled_.

Harald grinned frighteningly, with greater understanding, some of which he would acquire from the Greybeards soon, the power of his Thu'um would grow, he would grow in power.

"Did you say something?" asked Jergen, walking over, cradling the Draugr's bow.

"Yes." Replied Harald extremely happily. "But it doesn't matter now, what is it?"

"Found this." Remarked Jergen, giving him a strange look but waving the bow.

"It worth anything?" Harald said as they walked out of the barrow.

"Might be, I think it's enchanted."

"How'd you know?" Harald asked, it would be useful to be able to tell if items were enchanted for later reference.

"It's got a Mark." Replied Jergen, "Court Mage up in Dragonsreach puts them on the swords Olaf send up to be enchanted."

"Might be worth a bit them, know what it does?"

"No idea."

"Well, if you want my advice, give it to Yvette." Harald said after consideration.

Jergen looked sharply at him, beginning to cite the prohibition on gift giving among Nords.

"It's just an aid in battle." Harald assured him, he didn't really see the problem, though he agreed with the practice normally, besides, Jergen _was_ planning to court the woman. "She's an archer, present her with a magic bow and she'll like it."

Jergen still looked unconvinced.

"Listen," Harald told him, waving a finger at him as they reached the exit of the barrow. "Just tell her it's a gift in her work, to help her with it, don't say anything about courting her, not yet at least." He gave Jergen a wink, the Companion smiled, and then looked at the bow.

Harald was looking forward to the fallout of that particular conversation.


	13. Mirrors

_**Mike**__: Thought that the dungeon trawls might be boring written down, I've found that when people do walk-throughs of the actual game they tend to be annoying, but thanks for the feedback anyway, I'll start presenting them properly._

_I've corrected the spelling of 'Grey-Mane' to 'Gray-Mane' in the previous chapters, thanks for that as well._

_It's particularly annoying how Bethseda can't decide on the spelling of 'Grey/Gray', you've got the 'Grey'beards and the 'Gray'-Manes_

* * *

Harald sat on a rock at the edge of the White River, behind him the lights of Whiterun glinted orange in the grey sky.

"_Fus_" he whispered again, the air billowed and a small crater was briefly carved in the water as it streamed by.

He had been practicing his Shouts for the last two days, it was going well, the _Izz_ shout turned an object into ice, encasing it in the frozen water, whereas the _Fo _Shout did not freeze the target, but instead produced a jet of incredibly cold air, probably like the winds of a blizzard. This was interesting, as the two words were clearly made for different Shouts, but were a similar in effect. Harald wondered if there was a way to combine them, projecting both the frozen air and freezing the target.

If he added an extra Word, like _Slen_ to the Shout that began with _Izz_, the ice created around the target was of a greater thickness, and more resistant to a fire spell he tried on it to melt it. Therefore he surmised that if each Shout was there Words long, the more Words one used the more powerful the Shout was. Clearly, Sigdis Gauldurson's use of the 'Force Push' (Harald laughed about that) Shout was more powerful by a number of magnitudes than his single '_Fus'._

However, as Harald tried to learn more of the Shouts from experimentation, it didn't work. He tried the Word he acquired from Solstheim, _Mul _– Strength, and he thought he saw briefly ribbons of light swirl around him, but as he had no idea what the Word was meant to do, he couldn't utilise it properly. For instance, would it give him strength of a physical nature? Or of a magical nature? Would it make his Shouts stronger? He had no idea; therefore, he couldn't use it, not yet anyway.

This was a problem with the other Shouts to. _Ro_ was a mystery to him, he had assumed it was simply another part of the Shout, but when he shortened the Shout, using only _Fus Dah_, the Force seemed to be diffused over a larger area, and disturbed everything in a rough semi-circular arc to whatever he was facing. Therefore he reasoned that _Ro_ was actually some kind of aiming mechanism, as Sigdis was able to direct his Shout at Jergen and he, not just push the air all around him.

Therefore he was limited to the Shouts he had gotten from Word Walls, absorbing the knowledge of their meaning, if not their application from the structures, and the Shouts he knew the translations for. This was why he could use the Force Push Shout.

He also tried to investigate the mind-set of using his Voice. This was important, as he had observed from the raging fire in his chest and the tightness of his throat when he entered battle. Harald had taken another job when he returned, eager to try the Shout out in a combat setting, and had been tasked with clearing out a cave of bandits nearby. He had done this easily, but tried only to use his Voice, leaving his weapons only to defensive purposes. It had gone well, and he had gathered much data on the Voice.

While killing the thugs and random low-level minions of the cave he had not heard any of the Song, not felt the burning in his body, but when facing the group leader in single combat after killing his crew he heard the slow chant in his head, in the background as he successively battered the Orc against a rock using the _Fus_ Shout, rage worked well for the motivation to Shout, he gave himself over to his Dragon Soul, eventually turning the Bandit into a bloody mess. But later, when he had sat on his rock by the river he tried to Shout in a state of peace, it was much more difficult, but he learnt to use the Shout more easily, having greater control, rather than the undeniable power of the Song.

It seemed there was a dichotomy between the Dragonborn's will to use his Voice as a weapon, and the Way of the Voice practiced by Jurgen Windcaller and his Greybeards, who only used the great power in worship of Kynareth, the Aedra who gave mortals their Voice.

To quote Charles Xavier, 'True focus lies between Rage and Serenity'.

Harald but this into practice, acknowledging the rage, letting it fill him, he felt his throat tighten, the fire inside him flared, but then he directed it, using it rather than letting it use him. He was the Master, not the Servant, he was the Source, not the Conduit.

"_Fus!"_

Power rushed out of his mouth, it split the river in half, two halves and a spray of foam flew up from the surface. He heard an almighty crack and a boulder from the far side tumbled into the disturbed waters, ripples rushed outwards from the impact and a splash being thrown up.

Harald was pleased. He had uncovered a new ability. The first step along the road to discovering the meaning of being 'Dragonborn'.

His throat hurt though, like he had been coughing for hours. Clearly Shouting, like shouting, would wear out his mundane voice as well as his Kyne-given one. No doubt his ability to Shout would grow as he learnt, so he was not worried about that.

He also discovered that as he understood the Words, specifically concepts, he began to become immune to their effects. He knew _Ice_, and therefore he began to be able to ignore the cold, walking through a snowdrift without complaint, or even a Warming Charm. Similarly, through his understanding of _Fus_ his blocks and strikes were improved, as he further understood the passage and speed of the mass coming toward him, being able to deflect and absorb the energy. If he ever went up against the 'First Dragonborn' that Hermaeus Mora had mentioned no doubt their Shouts would be ineffective against each other, but devastating to those without a Voice.

As Harald walked back along the road to Whiterun he wondered if the Arens were back yet, they had mysteriously disappeared from Jorrvaskr during his quest to Prove His Honour for the Companions. He had looked for them, learning they had departed the city on some errand, at the behest of the Jarl's Wizard. Harald did not begrudge them this, he knew that his friends did indeed have other lives other than following him about, and though they were the guests of the Companions, the band of warriors would no doubt be no more than coldly courteous toward two obvious mages in their Hall.

Harald slipped in through the gate, walking past the city's forge, the one that the townspeople used for their needs, then past the other shops up onto the Wind District, crossing into the compound on the north-east side housing Jorrvaskr. Braziers filled by the Companions servants were being refilled by the same servants, and Jergen gave him a nod as he passed the man, who was eating his evening meal outside. Knowing he had time for a friend he went over and sat down. Jergen gave him a nod as he offered over his plate, a haunch of some unfortunate animal on it.

Harald accepted it gratefully. He was quite hungry, having only snacked on some bread and cheese after he killed the bandits. They were sitting under an awning that sheltered any of the Companions who wanted to eat outside. Many did on good days, and Jorrvaskr could be stuffy and smoky, a fault shared by many large halls where the ventilation as bad. They were sitting on the central bench, rather than one of the smaller tables. Harald had his back to the Skyforge, while he faced out over the distance he had just crossed.

"How was the hunt?" Jergen asked between tearing off chunks of meat with his teeth.

"Well, bandits are dead and I learnt a new thing." Replied Harald, using his knife to cut smaller pieces, then spearing them and placing them into his mouth. He idly looked up toward the Throat of the World, knowing he would be visiting there soon.

"Oh?"

"Watch this." Harald said, he turned to the left, seeing Yvette practicing her archery with her normal bow.

"_Fus_." He said quietly, not loud enough for Yvette to hear it, but staggering her as she went to collect her arrows.

"The Thu'um!" Jergen exclaimed loudly after choking on his meat in surprise, "You summoned the Thu'um."

"Just tell everyone about it then." Harald said sarcastically.

Jergen looked mollified but very impressed.

"It's fine, I doubted it would stay secret for long, after all, Shouting isn't very discreet is it?" Harald asked him, "I'm going up to the Greybeards soon to learn more about it."

Jergen gave him congratulations on his ability, and began to ask how it worked, Harald responded as best he could, trying not to reveal that he was Dragonborn. After all, there were no dragons around for him to absorb the souls of, so that probably wouldn't be guessed until later. Hopefully the people would just assume that he had studied the Way of the Voice in High Hrothgar, and put his ability down to that.

"It's too complicated to explain really." he finally said, "But, I would like your help with something." He asked after Jergen had finished.

"What with?" asked Jergen, standing up and following Harald as they walked up the many steps to the Skyforge.

"A sword." Replied Harald enigmatically. He led the way out onto the platform below the huge stone eagle that was perched, wings protecting the forge and acting as a convenient wind break.

"Companions." Olaf Gray-Mane greeted them, he was also eating, to Harald it looked like a thoroughly unappetising bowl of gruel, evidently the smith found it more filling.

Olaf Gray-Mane lived up to his name, he wore a heavy, heat resistant tunic over his torso, and a leather kilt under that, hanging to below his knees. His Mane was indeed Gray, one of the most identifiable features of that clan, presumably a genetic abnormality that turned their hair silver very early. The smith looked to be in his early thirty's, younger than one would normally expect a man's hair to turn gray.

Harald nodded at Olaf, then walked to Rollo who was working the bellows, pumping air into the forge, the embers and coals glowing brightly with each compress of the bag. Rollo was in fact pumping it via a rope. This seemed unusual, however, as Harald noted the sunken nature of the Skyforge he saw the reason for it. Instead of a bellows with handles, this pump was operated by hauling on a rope, this would run through a series of pulleys, then into a hole in the stonework, thereby pushing air into the fire. This would allow the blacksmith to stand upright, rather than bending in an awkward position, making the work faster and more efficient. Harald was impressed with the arrangement, it was uncomplicated but effective, just the way he liked it.

"We've got steel to shape." Said Rollo as he pulled the rope again, "So unless you want something…"

"I want a sword." Harald replied, casually bewitching the rope to continue to pump at a steady rate while he took Rollo by the shoulder and steered him toward a seat near Olaf, who was looking at the now self-working forge suspiciously.

"You have at least four swords, that I know of." Complained Rollo, "Why do you need another?"

"I do indeed have many weapons." Replied Harald, drawing them from the pouch and laying them out, the Bloodskal first, then the twinned ebonys, then his Haafingar Blade.

"He hasn't got the right weapon." Explained Jergen.

Harald nodded, knowing Jergen would understand, some weapons you felt more comfortable with, like Harald hated blunt weapons like maces, but preferred swords. "Exactly." He said. "This." He said, tapping the Bloodskal's "is too dangerous for fighting in a group, as I do usually," Then he gestured to the ebony shortswords, curved blades shimmering red in the light. "I rarely use these because I dislike using two different weapons, I find it awkward." He pointed to the Haafingar Blade, "I like this the most, but its imperfect for my needs, also its made of steel."

"And what would you make it of, ebony?" asked Olaf, looking impatient with his capriciousness.

"Indeed." Said Harald surprised, bringing out one of the crates he had kept back from the sale.

Olaf swayed back in surprise at the dark chunks of metal inside. This crate was full of ore, ready to be smelted and beaten into a weapon, rather than ingots, which would have to be reheated, compromising their structural integrity.

"I want a sword like this." Harald asked, holding the Haafingar Blade, "But thinner, and a sharper point." Though the Haarfingar was by all counts a beautiful and excellent sword, it was very wide, it tapered into a point only after completing a leaf like shape. Though this was very good for slashing at an enemy, the wider blade doing more damage, the point could not penetrate plate.

"You want to be able to take on armour." Olaf said, turning a chunk of ebony over in his hands, coming to the same reasoning as Harald had.

"Yes." He confirmed. "And I need it longer, especially the handle."

Swords in Skyrim were fairly common, less so than axes and spears, as these required less metal, but they were more versatile than either. Harald had observed that many of the smith still worked on a 7th century level comparable with Earth, whereas richer smiths who had trained their craft and who had gold to experiment were far in advance, coming to a medieval standard. For the most part the armies of the Empire were equipped with steel, however, Harald had seen few examples of folded steel, sometimes known as Damascus steel.

The type of sword most Nords used was the Spatha, around three quarters of a metre long, with a small round crossguard, however some nobility had evolved this sword, borrowing from Imperial influences and developed the Arming Sword, this was longer and had a more protective pommel. The use of fullers had also evolved, these would be channels cut in the length of the blade to make it lighter and to allow it to take the blows of attacks better, the harder outer edge of the sword deflecting the hit while the softer inner side absorbed some of the kinetic energy.

Only recently (in the last thousand years) of Tamriel's history, had longer blades been able to be made, this was because of a lack of knowledge in making the steel strong enough to hold a longer length, and lead to the evolution of the two handed sword, hand in hand with this was the development of improved armour, necessitating the swords to be thinner to account for this. However, at the moment very few people could wear full plate, and fewer smiths forge it, so Harald wouldn't be coming up against a knight any time soon. The only reason Harald wasn't seeing more of these zweihänders was that pikes were not used in Tamriel, a longer sword could be used to knock aside the handle of the pike before reaching the pikeman, preventing the swordsman from being skewered.

Harald wanted a Bastard Sword, so called because it was neither completely a long or short blade, and could be held in one hand or both, allowing him to cast spells, the Haafingar Blade was almost perfect for this, but he felt uncomfortable with it, the pommel was too close to allow him to hit with the full force of his blows, and he couldn't grip the wolf's head properly. He told all this to Olaf, who listened with growing interest to the history of swords, interrupting occasionally for clarification.

"Well I still can't make you the sword." Olaf said.

"Why?" asked Harald surprised, everyone spoke of how the Gray-Mane's were the best smiths, how Olaf was saying he couldn't do it?

"Forge isn't hot enough."

"Well that's easy." Harald said, summoning a flame to his hand.

"Aye." Said Olaf, unimpressed, "And can you keep that at a constant but variable temperature for three days?" he asked.

"Perhaps not." Said Harald, extinguishing the flame.

"What about Fire Salts?" asked Rollo from the side where he had been listening.

Olaf considered, "Maybe, maybe that'd work, if you can find me enough of it to heat all this, they burn like the fires of Red Mountain." He said, kicking the box of ore.

"To the apothecary!" explained Jergen, grabbing Harald's arm and pulling him down the steps.

Harald heard Rollo laugher from above them as they ran down the steps, racing each other to the Plains District and the alchemy shop, wedged between the Bannered Mare and another business. Jergen won, coming to a skidding stop, then tripping and falling in the dirt as he reached the end of the race. Harald jogged the rest of the way laughing, having had to slow down because of a cart pulling into the middle of the road.

Harald pulled him up and they went inside, there was another fire pit right in the middle of the room. Harald wondered where they got the wood from, considering Whiterun Hold was mainly tundra and mountains.

"Fire Salts?" he asked the Apothecary, an Altmer woman in stained robes, especially around the sleeves which she had rolled up past her elbows. The elf bent down and brought out a small chest, then unlocked it with a key from a ring on her belt, span it round to face them and showed Harald the contents. Inside there was a glowing red power, some of it granular crystals, some a sand like substance. With neither Companion being an alchemist neither new if this was suitable, they assumed so.

"How much for the box?" asked Jergen, after telling Harald that Olaf would undoubtedly refund the difference.

"Two thousand Septims." Said the Apothecary

Harald wondered by how much she was overcharging.

"Worth it for a sword." Said Jergen.

"Alright." Harald shrugged, calling the amount from his pouch, a significant portion of his profit from the sale of the trade goods in Solitude.

The Altmer handed over the chest, giving them the key as well. Jergen hefted it over his shoulder and they made their way back to the Skyforge.

"That was quick." Remarked Rollo, taking the chest, he opened it. "We only needed a cupful!" he then shouted, admiring the riches inside.

"What you planning on doing with all of this after I take what's necessary for the forging?" asked Olaf, picking out a large crystal and checking its structure.

"The Gray-Mane's can have it as far as I'm concerned, as long as I can always come here to get work done." Harald told him, thinking it would be a good bribe to ensure him the friendship of such a powerful family.

"Aye, I can make that deal, and it's a good one." Said Olaf, shaking his hand on it.

"I'm making the pilgrimage up to High Hrothgar in a few days, I'll probably be staying there at least two months, will you be able to make it for around then?" asked Harald.

"Sure, sure, sooner if you need it then, three day at best."

"No, take as long on it as necessary."

"Any other particulars?" Olaf asked, nodding his shaggy head.

"Make it look good." Said Harald, bringing out a pouch of gems, "But don't enchant it."

"Right you are." Said Olaf, and went back to his forge.

Harald walked through the town after that, Jergen and Rollo flanking him. They wandered out the front gate and over the tundra, their steps bouncing on the soft grasses.

"Have you given Yvette the bow yet?" asked Harald, "I noticed her practicing her archery today."

"Not yet." Replied Jergen, kicking a stone into a small pool.

"It takes courage to stand up to an enemy, but still more to stand up to a friend." Harald advised, remembering Dumbledore saying something similar to him years ago.

"She still won't like me." Jergen shot back, deflecting Harald's philosophy.

"Perhaps not, but it's a start, do you know the reason for her dislike?" Harald asked. He was maintaining a distance behind Rollo who walked faster, enabling their conversation o be private.

"She thinks I'm a coward." Jergen said morosely.

"Then appear as a valorous warrior." Replied Harald simply.

Jergen quirked an eyebrow. "How d'you mean?"

Harald began a rather hypocritical lecture, "Winning is not everything, running from a battle means you can fight it another day and win correct?" he asked.

Jergen nodded uncertainly.

"But you can win, and you can triumph, they are two different things."

Jergen said nothing.

"Winning is to defeat the enemy, it is to kill him and accomplish your objective." Said Harald, "To triumph over him does not mean to win against him, it means to emerge on top, to be seen as the victor. Even in defeat one can still triumph, as you yourself showed."

"How?"

"Against me, when we first fought." Harald explained.

"But you beat me." Jergen said, touching his still slightly bruised face.

"Indeed I did, but you still triumphed over me, I won by dishonest means and apologised for it later." Harald said, now that he was more at peace with his Dragon Soul he could admit this without flinching.

Jergen seemed to be beginning to understand. "So I must lose to increase my standing in Yvette's eyes?" he asked.

"You must be defeated, but still triumph." Harald confirmed. "My victory over you was a shameful one, it was a win, you took the moral high ground. In future, do not play with your enemies, or they will do as I did." Jergen began to protest at the slur against his honour, but Harald cut him off, "You were and you know it, you were trying to impress her."

"Aye." Jergen admitted after a while.

"Fight some enemy with her, and instead of trying to dodge every blow from him, have some land, block them full on, show there is substance to you. Your swordplay is very good, you are most skilled, but use it rather to show your effectiveness in battle, rather than your skill in the arena." Harald advised. He had seen similar circumstance with Aurors fighting mock duels and entering duelling championships, whilst there was nothing wrong with this as a show of skill, it was not an honourable pursuit to waste one's energy on a friendly duel when others were risking their lives against dark wizards. Harald himself had fought in Dueling Championship in the 2034, and won it, but never again, he then went back to his job. He though part of Jergen's problem was in his fighting style itself, a rapier was an inherently dishonest weapon. It was subtle, its skills requires nuances of knowledge and application to defeat an enemy. For all its bullishness, Rollo's hammer was at least an honest weapon, you knew where you stood with a man coming at you with a hammer.

"But Yvette uses a bow!" Jergen exclaimed, following a parallel train of thought.

"She uses a sword just as well."

Jergen nodded at that, it was true, Yvette preferred the bow certainly, but she would drop it and draw her sword if an enemy came to close. Jergen then walked with brows furrowed for the rest of the circuit of the city, and when they reached the gates again he summed up him thinking.

"The ways of women are strange."

"'Acknowledging that you know nothing is the first step along the road to wisdom'". Quoth Harald wisely.

* * *

Harald stopped off later at the Bannered Mare to eat, Jorrvaskr served a great deal of rare red meat, which in large quantities Harald had begun to find repetitive. At the 'Mare he found out what had happened to the Arens. Apparently they had stopped through there on their way out to investigate a barrow. Harald felt vaguely jealous that they didn't bring him along. However, the proprietor told him that it wasn't far so they were expected back tonight, he knew as he was the one who directed them to the barrow.

However, just as Harald had finished questioning the barman the door opened and two familiar shapes waddled in, their blue robes soaked in water which dripped and formed into pools on the floor. Harald smiled at them, finding it most amusing that they could have gotten so wet on a perfectly fine day.

"Went for a swim did we?" he asked them jovially.

Siva growled at him, whilst Savos sat down, his boots sloshing with water. "A ledge collapsed under us and dumped us in an underground lake; we had to swim out a tunnel that emerged in the river."

Harald laughed, then cast a combination of Charms that would warm and dry them as if they had been standing in front of a hot fire for some time.

"Thank you." Said Savos coolly, Siva pulled her hood over her head and drew her legs up on the chair, snuggling into the now warm robes.

"Presents!" Harald suddenly exclaimed, he threw the fragments of Archmage Gauldur's amulets at the two, the first one under Saarthal he had found went to Savos. He had analysed it, deciding that it increased in Magicka reserves of the wearer, 'widening' their connection to Aetherius. The one he had found in Folgunthur, Mikrul's fragment, he gave to, using a slight levitation spell to fly it over to her and fasten it around her neck from across the table, she didn't move, and was possibly asleep. That fragment would increase the vitality of the wearer. The third he had given to Jergen, as the boy had helped him kill Sigdis, that one would allow him to push himself further, and give him more stamina.

"What's this?" asked Savos, turning it over in his long fingers.

"A fragment of Arch-Mage Gauldur's magical amulet. You read about it in _Lost Legends_, as well as Valen's notes in Folgunthur." Harald explained.

"Do you have the third fragment?" Savos asked excitedly, "If we could combine it-"

"I do, or rather, I did, but I gave it away." Harald cut him off.

Savos' face morphed into several expressions quite quickly, first, outrage, then surprise, then curiosity. The Dunmer had a capacity to do things he shouldn't, like wanting to have powerful magical items for himself, but he usually tempered these urges with logic.

"First, we have no idea where the place we need to go to join them is." Explain Harald, holding up a hand and counting off on his fingers. "Second, it would be unfair to the others for one person to have the complete amulet, thirdly, when we eventually go to the place we'll either face Gauldur himself, his three sons, or Geirmund, the Battlemage dispatched to kill them. Any of them are rather powerful Draugr, who will now be even more violent spirits and who will be prepared for us."

Harald saw Savos considering his arguments, he pressed on: "So either we leave the fragments apart, they are powerful in their own right so you won't miss much, or you go back to the College and study for a few years, then when you're more powerful we try it again, go to this…Reachwater Tower was it? And combine them."

Savos nodded hesitantly, then a second later more forcefully, "Yes, yes your right, as usual, we do require further study, both of us."

"And me." Said Harald, he now knew several destruction spells, as well as some mind bending techniques from the school of Illusion that supplemented his Wizarding Mind Arts. Savos' teachings of Alteration were useful as well; the Ward spells for instance did almost exactly the same thing as his _Protego_. Meaning that most of his spells were now a combination of Aetherian and Wizarding magic, making them at least twice as effective, sometimes more. One advantage being that the spells made up for the discrepancies in the others, a Ward Spell would stop directed energy such as fireballs, but would let through arrows, Harald's own Magic could stop the arrows too.

However he knew little to no Restoration magic, and had nothing but theoretical knowledge of Conjuration. His Alchemy and Enchanting were absorbed quickly into his knowledge, being almost identical to what he already knew, just using different ingredients or materials, just as one could have a shirt of cotton or silk, the effect was the same.

"Coming back with us?" asked a muffled voice from the corner.

"No, I'm for High Hrothgar and the Greybeards." Harald replied, seeing two red points of light peeking out from a gap in the folds of the hood. The eyes widened and slanted minutely and through his passive Legilimency Harald got a sense of deep sadness.

"I will return." He assured her. Savos was as ever unconcerned, Harald knew he thought of him more as a colleague than a friend, he didn't mind, Savos was a grown man, or rather Elf, but he did care about Siva.

"When?" she asked immediately.

"Monthly, perhaps more." Said Harald, after all, he would not be learning all the time, and there would no doubt be practical expeditions in which he might visit the College.

"Sooner." Siva commanded.

Harald smiled, he really did have too many commitments to be cloistering himself at the top of a mountains, the top of the world really, since it was the tallest in Tamriel. He enjoyed feeling wanted.

"Are there any teleportation spells?" he asked Savos, the more scholarly of the two.

"There used to be," the Dunmer replied immediately, "the old Mark & Recall routine was a regular practice among even hedge wizards."

"I'm sensing a 'but' here."

Savos gave a little laugh. "Indeed, the Oblivion Crisis, for want of a better word, 'mangled' the plane of Oblivion the mage would travel though. You see," he said, putting a fork in between two cups. "The mage in question 'Recalls' from Cup A, then he travels through the fork, that's the Plane of Oblivion that got mangled, to Cup B, the place he 'Marked'."

Harald thought he understood, this was why his Apparition thus far was not working, the mage or Wizard was traveling in a car and the bridge they were going over had been destroyed.

"Mangled?" he asked.

"Mehrunes Dagon opened portals all over Tamriel, portals which forced the Aetherian Veil, separating the mortal and divine realms. In between different Daedric realms the Veil is thinner, but to reach Nirn Dagon forced the tunnel, and it strained the plane so much it made magical travel in that way all but impossible."

"Qualify that statement." Harald ordered, "'All but impossible'"

"Well some say the Psijic Order can still teleport because of their great understanding of Mysticism, they invented it after all."

Sidgis Gauldurson had certainly not been a 'Psijic', Harald smelled a rat. "I thought you said it needed the 'Teleportation Plane' to function, and therefore it would be Conjuration."

"Well, you can open the portal with Conjuration, but any mage can open a portal, it's only the more powerful ones who can control what comes out. The Mysticism is needed to actually move through the 'Teleportation Plane' as you call it." Explained Savos, looking like he was the student rather than the teacher under Harald's firm gaze.

"Hmm." Said Harald, sitting back in his chair. Following his earlier analogy he would just have to 'rebuilt' the bridge. Savos' explanation didn't completely explain why he couldn't Apparate in fact, Aetherian and Wizarding magic operated on two different wavelengths, so a problem with one shouldn't interfere with another. He needed more data, Savos, though intelligent, was no expert.

He had several methods of travel he might normally use to accommodate Siva's desire for him to visit the College. First, walking. This would take far too long though, considering the road from Whiterun to Winterhold was at least a week long in normal conditions, it got slower as one went further north, lots of snow. Second, by horse or cart. Since cart was almost as slow as a horse and could only take him as far as Windhelm and he wouldn't be so cruel as to subject a horse to the cold conditions so that was out as well . Then there was a broomstick, which he didn't have, nor did he know if he would be able to properly enchant one, again, the cold was a problem, it affected the wood adversely. Viktor Krum had flown against him in a match after he graduated Hogwarts; the Durmstrang team practiced and played in a huge heated cavern, as the arctic winds around the castle threw their play off. Then there was Apparition, which was out because of Dagon's 'mangling' and probably a set of Vanishing Cabinets for the same reason.

"I wonder." Harald wondered, fishing another crate of ebony out his bag and taking a single ingot out before he put it back in the pouch.

Savos looked on in interest, barely registering the magically appearing and disappearing crate.

Harald took the bar, levitating it in front of him. Luckily the other patrons of the Inn's common room were being entertained by a traveling bard who was singing 'My Sweet Lady of Wayrest' loudly. Manoeuvring it into position in front of him Harald directed five precise cutting charms at it, the ingot appeared unchanged, but then Harald released the charm, and it dropped with a dull _thud_ onto the table, splitting into six steadily smaller slates of ebony. Holding his hand over them he willed them into a network.

"_Proteus." _

The slates of ebony shone briefly with a white light, and then dimmed. Harald examined one from the top, its sides slightly slanted because of the shape of the original ingot.

"Hand." He said to Savos, the Dunmer extended his arm, pulling up his sleeve as he did so, wary but incredibly interested.

Harald jabbed him with a small knife, letting a few drops of blood fall on the slate. Savos flinched, his hand darting back and the knife scored a small cut across it. Savos cursed and glared at Harald, wrapping it in his hand in his sleeve, some of the material darkening slightly.

Harald took the slate with the blood on it, the blood was gone and he thought he could detect a slight vibration coming from it. It had worked. He took another slate, this one larger than the first, being part of the bottom slices, and turned to Siva to see her hand already outstretched, completely still. She was looking into his eyes, nothing but trust coming through them. Harald smiled, and then gently taking the proffered hand he pricked it quickly with the knife. Siva did not flinch, leaving her wrist in his grasp, he healed it with a small spell and gave it back to her, she continued to watch him from under the folds of his hood.

Harald finally pricked his own thumb and ran it along a third slate. In the current absence of an Arcane Enchanter he was using blood as the sealing agent, it was simple and effective and he was ready to test it. He put Siva's slate before her on the table top, she looked at it curiously, then back up to him. He took his own.

"Siva." He spoke into his. The one in front of the recipient of the 'call' buzzed, the vibration felt through the table. Siva picked it up and gasped.

Through his slate Harald could see her slightly open mouth, the furrowed brows weren't even present, Harald took that to mean she was _very _surprised.

"What is it?" she asked, tilting it this way and that. Harald heard the query echo through the slate a second after she had asked it.

Savos was hitting his on the table, his wound forgotten, in an attempt to get it to work. Harald 'called' him and Siva's face in his slate moved to the right while the left side was taken up by a lopsided view of the room, rapidly moving around as Savos hit it again. Siva stopped him, and Savos as well peered into the slate.

"Most ingenious," he muttered to himself, then intoned "Siva." clearly into it.

Siva's slate halved as well, and Harald face moved to the right while Savos' appeared in the left.

"How does it work?" asked Siva, after putting hers back on the table.

"No doubt some method of scrying." Said Savos, "Certainly part of the Illusion school."

Harald shook his head, "If anything you would call it Alteration. It's called the Proteus, it is a spell that makes two objects have the same qualities from a master object." Savos looked on in extreme interest, Harald could see wheels and cogs spinning in his mind. "My friends and I used coins, with changing mint dates on them to arrange meetings. However, I believe my father may have invented this particular enchantment."

Savos muttered something about 'not everyone's father being a dragon-killing Arch-Mage'.

"He and his friends used mirrors to communicate between them, but as I didn't have a mirror to hand I used reflective slates of ebony. These will be more durable than a normal mirror." Harald concluded.

"But how do they work?" asked Savos again, his hand glowing as he ran it over the mirror, evidently trying to divine its inner workings.

"The Protean charm links them in a 'network', then, each drop of separate blood acts as an 'address', meaning when I call one of your names my mirror connects to yours via the 'network'" Harald explained. "Basically I'm tricking them into thinking they're the same mirror, just reflecting different backgrounds."

"Incredible." Said Savos, his hand had stopped glowing.

Harald looked over at Siva, she smiled at him.

"Don't lose or confuse them." Harald warned, "Actually, pass them back." When they did Harald put compulsions on them so that anyone who acquire on of the mirrors would be inclined to give them back to the respective Arens, he also carved their names into the backs of each one. He felt much more reassured now, he wouldn't put it past Savos to break it apart to try and replicate the enchantment.

"If the person you're calling doesn't answer they're probably busy, or asleep or something, so don't be surprised if you try it at night. I'll be expanding the network as we go, only to people I trust though, so don't be concerned." Harald said, "Also, it's not unheard of for you to be able to home in on the signal of others with mirrors, so they might help if you get lost or something."

Later on, knowing Siva's penchant for sleeping in he said goodbye before they went to bed, Siva looked torn on some momentous decision, but Harald read it in her eyes that she was not sure whether to embrace him, Harald found this hilarious and opted to pat her on the head, jolting her out of her crisis and instead focusing her on trying to hit him with a firebolt. Harald directed a ward over his shoulder to absorb it and walked off laughing. Savos farewelled him in that awkward way savants are wont to when forced into a social interaction.

Harald walked the length of Jorrvaskr, going to Jergen's room and taking his hand and jabbing him, then leaving a slate on his bedside table and walking out, ignoring the Companion's confused questions.

"Jergen." Harald said into his slate as he walked out of the gates of Whiterun, not going to bed himself, not needing sleep for several hours yet. The screen was dark for some time, but then lit, showing the torchlit stone flags of Jergen's quarters.

"Turn it round." He told the Companion. Jergen did so, but his face was upside down, Harald sighed and patiently instructed Jergen on the functions of the mirror.

"I didn't want to leave for months without giving you a line of conversation." He told Jergen.

"I-Thank you." Said Jergen, still looking on in amaze in the bobbing face of Harald as he ran along the road at a steady pace.

"I've left you my armour, if the Greybeards attack me it won't be with swords," Harald said darkly, "you might want to train wearing it, it will improve your strength and stamina, once you get as fast as you are now in it, you'll be even faster without."

Jergen saw the sense in this, and thanked Harald again.

"Nords give thanks with deeds, not words." Harald told him, "Thank me by learning from my words."

Jergen promised he would and Harald cut the connection. Pacing on southwards. He was taking the southern route round the base of the Throat of the World, having already walked the northern with Jergen on their way to Geirmund's Hall. This route would also take him along roads rather than through the wilderness, preventing him from getting lost as he and Jergen had several times before.

Ivarstead and the Rift were accessible from two narrow passes from Whiterun, the northern route by cross the White River somewhere, then walking along the valley's floor that it had carved over the millennia. This way was difficult however, because once one had travelled far enough to turn south one had to climb up the heights of the Rift. This was tiresome, the only ways up being tiny goat paths, and steep caves inhabited by bears and trolls. Harald did not fancy facing either; therefore he would take the southern pass, connecting the Rift to Whiterun Hold. This one passed first through the small and unimaginatively named logging town of Riverwood, then through the Imperial outpost of Helgen, monitoring Pale Pass, the primary supply and trade route into Cyrodiil.

Riverwood turned out to be a sleepy hamlet, of only a few houses a wagon station for the hauling of lumber and the mill that produced the lumber itself. Harald was already past this by midnight, and he had almost taken a road climbing up to Helgen before he stopped at a set of standing stones.

He walked up feeling a power coming from them that he had not felt the like of before. There were three stones, set in a triangle, their faces to the road. He stood in the middle, feet placed steadily on a mass of vines. Harald cast a Magelight to hover in the middle of the three, a few feet above his head. He could see the White River curving round to the right, a small island with a pine tree on it being in immediate view, the rest of the water heading away to fill Lake Ilinalta in Falkreath Hold.

The stone in front of him showed a bearded man with great billowing robes, a staff held in his hand, its head alight with eldritch fire. The left stone a hooded and cloaked man crouching with a dagger, and the right a stalwart warrior, shield and battleaxe brandished.

Harald had heard tales of these stones, they were set by some ancient mason all round Skyrim and the other provinces, and each showed a constellation in the sky at night. These were the Thief, the Mage and the Warrior. There were many others, on an island on Lake Ilinalta the Serpent, and on the coast near Winterhold the Tower. Some people born under certain signs would have particular qualities, under the Warrior they would be more inclined to physical confrontation, under the Lover, they would be wooers and great friends, under the Lord, leaders.

These characteristics were not 'set in stone' but somewhat of a self-fulfilling prophecy. If everyone around you told you that you were born to be a mage, as you were born under that sign, you would be more likely to be pushed toward that vocation.

Harald had reliable information saying if you touched one of the stones you would receive a blessing from it. He wondered which to take.

The Thief, certainly not, as he was fundamentally opposed to sneaking around stealing things, taking them by force was a different matter, but if he did want something, he would take it honestly, not with trickery.

The Mage, perhaps, he was a Wizard after all, but magic was a tool, it did not define him.

The Warrior, yes, the Warrior, that described him perfectly.

Harald walked forward, the circular tunnel in the top of the stone started to glow, he held out his hand, placing it just above the worn carving. The stone glowed more, and a pillar of light shot from the top, piercing the clouds in the sky. Harald did not feel appreciably different; perhaps it took time to be effective. He gave a superstitious look at the pillar of light, then ran off again, up the slope, heading toward Helgen. The road was rough, seemingly seldom travelled, Harald thought that odd, given this was supposed to be one of the principle trade routes from the Imperial Province into Skyrim, much of the trade caravans breaking up and traveling to further places after Whiterun. Though, considering the steep slope of the road, perhaps the carts took a different way.

High stone towers appeared as the ground levelled out; he was climbing into the foothills of the Jerall Mountains. Helgen passed by quickly, as it was a walled town Harald skirted round it, being in no mood to explain to pushy officials why he was traveling and the reason for his visit. One interesting thing however was a group of dark shapes gathering at the bottom of the northern gatehouse. He saw something go up, probably a rope and grapnel, and a body start to ascend. He did not doubt these were thieves or bandits, and stopped. It was not his job to sort out everyone's problems, but he could lend a hand.

Casting a _Sonorus_ on his throat, he shouted to the town. "**Imperial troops, to arms! Intruders at the north gate!" **

He then sent out a dozen Magelights, streaking across the night sky to hover around the heads of the group. They were indeed bandits, but they looked surprisingly well-equipped for raiders. They were also in larger numbers than Harald had at first thought, at around thirty, rather than the dozen he had counted in the dark. Curses and shouts from the group soon turned to screams when Harald launched three fireballs toward them, surrounding them in explosions that pushed or hurled them bodily against the wall, more shouts, this time in pain and fear went up as he shot a volley of conjured arrows into the knot of people. Harald heard the brassy sound of trumpets from the fort, summoning the garrison to battle. Seeing the Imperial commander there had the situation well in hand he ran off on his journey again, taking the most direct route now as the moons of Nirn circled into the west. He jumped over boulders, feeling a new strength fill him, he batted aside bushes and branches and he managed to jump a chasm, scrabbling on the other side and coming swiftly to Ivarstead in the pale dawn, the Rift still shadowed in the encircling arms of the mountains.


	14. The 7000 Steps

_So as I'm writing some of these chapters I'm basically playing them as well, and ironically when I was writing the part with the bear a bear did in fact attack me, unlike the one in the story this one got Shouted off the mountain._

* * *

Ivarstead, like Riverwood, was a very small village. Harald had slipped in, put three Septims on the counter, then taken on of the unoccupied rooms, punched the pillow till he was actually able to sleep on it, and then cast a sleeping spell on himself, this was perhaps not the most wise course of action, however it was the simplest. Harald was tired in body, if not in mind, and he wanted to rest before the seven thousand steps up to High Hrothgar.

In the morning he was awoken by the smell of cooking, and ventured out of his lair, into the common room. It was around noon by his count, and the innkeeper wiping down his counter looked moderately surprised, but then held up three gold coins. Harald nodded at him, and the innkeeper gestured expansively for him to make himself comfortable while he was brought food.

As Harald ate an apple pie, washed down with a pleasant mug of water from the river, he thanked Skyrim's economy and the various servers he had come across. The culture of the Nords dictated complete honest in their dealing, there was no haggling, the seller would give a price, the buyer would meet it or go elsewhere, if you wanted something for free you contributed to its production. For instance, if Harald wanted to have a chair for his house, he could do to a lumbermill, and ask the foreman if he could cut a few logs, the foreman would agree, and then Harald would manoeuvre the tree into position on the saw, and the log would be but. Then Harald would take the wood to a carpenter, who would make him the chair. Either he would leave an excess quantity with the carpenter, as he had the Fire Salts and the Gray-Manes, or he would tip the man for his service. Much of the Skyrim economy actually operated on a system of bartering of services. That was one of the reasons thieves were so despised by the Nords, if you were in true need you could take something from another man, who would give it to you gladly, seeing that you could not pay for it normally, on the silent agreement that you would pay him back when you could, but a thief would take things they did not need and disappear off into the night with them.

"Heard any news lately?" he asked the innkeep when the man came to take away his plate.

"Most of its coming out of Riften these days." The man replied, "The Lake's beginning to clear."

"Good news." Replied Harald.

"Aye, and the Jarl's son Istlod sent half the Legion there it seems, went 'imself to help with the rebuilding." Said the Innkeeper proudly, as if he had something to do with it.

Well, good for Istlod. Thought Harald, he didn't just send a contingent but went himself, good man.

Harald nodded to the innkeeper, then walked out of the Inn, he saw a sign just outside with 'Vilemyr Inn' written on it, he had missed that last night. He headed off down the road, following it past the mill and another little grouping of huts around a farm. Harald crossed a bridge over some random river, to the north he could only see a blue haze, possibly the horizon joining with the sea past the mouth of the White River at Windhelm. Then he took his first step on the seven thousand he was climbing to meet the Greybeards. He paused on his twenty-third step though, as there was a receptacle in the path. He lit the shadows with a handful of flame, and read the etching.

_Before the birth of men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus;  
Their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for True Needs;  
For the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land_

What was that supposed to be? A history lesson? To tell the layman of the history of the Voice. Perhaps a warning, 'do not seek the Voice for your own gain'. Only use the Voice for 'True Needs' as it was powerful, 'with great power comes great responsibility' and all that.

He zigzagged up the mountain, the steps at times cracked or broken, though he knew that High King Harald at least had repaired one when it was broken by a dragon. By his count he had barely passed two hundred steps yet, and he was already quite high, perhaps the seven thousand steps referred to each individual stone, as some of the steps were actually made up of several different stones. He saw a barrow just outside Ivarstead, perhaps he would investigate later on.

_Men were born and spread over the face of Mundus;  
The Dragons presided over the crawling masses;  
Men were weak then, and had no Voice_

Slightly annoying how it didn't actually mention where Men came from. Harald thought, there seemed to be no data on that, the _Songs of the Return_ implied that the First Men, the Nords, were 'formed at the Throat of the World when the sky breathed onto the land.', though poetic, it was unhelpful. A cave bear emerged in his path from behind a rock, two cubs in tow. It was the end of winter, the hibernating animals would be coming out around now. The mother bear roared at him, standing up on her hind legs. Harald did not want to kill her, leaving the children to most likely die, so he set the path on fire, dividing it so that he could walk on one side and the bears on the other, in this way they passed each other amicably. He started to climb up past the Nordic biome and into the arctic one. Snow covered much of the steps, and he reapplied his Warming and Imperturbable Charms, directing a stream of intense fire forward in front of his feet, melting the snow and giving him safer footing. The path leveled out, a small cairn of rocks with a faded red cloth fluttering in the wind was passed, and he came to the next etching.

_The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in Old Times;  
Unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices;  
But the Dragons only shouted them down and broke their hearts_

Harald failed to see why this rebellion was not obvious to the _Dov, _the spirit of man would always endure, no matter how oppressed, he pressed on, what he would ask for if he had to fight a dragon was a Stinger Missile, that would soon sort it out. Alternatively, just put a SAM battery in each major city; create a no-fly zone across Skyrim.

He passed three more cairns, but felt a slight tug from one. He stopped there, looking at the third such red cloth he had found on his journey. Harald felt the tug again, like the feel of a Portkey, a feeling somewhere near his navel. He materialised the Ring on his hand, and extended it, passing partway into the wraithworld, pulling out a spirit that inhabited the cairn. Some shades preserved their form in life, but some took their form in death, this one was the later, a tall man, his beard coated in ice and his right hand missing from frostbite as well as his ears, two black stumpy growths in place of them on either side of his head.

"I would walk with you, _Dovahkiin_. I must complete my pilgrimage." Said the frostbitten ghost.

Harald nodded, giving the man a place at his side, he always tried to fulfil the wishes of spirits, if their errand meant so much to them that they could not pass over he would do everything in his power to help them, the least he could do was allow this unfortunate man to walk alongside him.

_Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man;  
Together they taught Men to use the Voice;  
Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue_

Paarthurnax, '_Ambition Overlord Cruelty' _in the Dragon Language, so a Dragon helped Man? Harald beforehand thought that dragons were always cruel overlords, but this one was said to 'pity', so they were capable of the higher emotions, interesting, he would have far less compunction killing one now, he would much prefer the killing of a sentient over an animal, a creature that reasoned could know that it was attacking him and risking death, a beast acted on instinct. And he would kill dragons, this was certain, he did not know when, but it was inevitable, why else would a _Dovahkiin_, the 'Born Hunter of Dragonkind' be put on Nirn?

Harald walked past three more cairns, feeling pulls from two of them, he reached in and pulled the spirits from them. They were in similar states to the first, and bowed to him as Master of Death, then fell into rank behind him. He walked under a shadowed crevasse, another spirit rose up from a skeleton in a pile of bones, this one had been mauled and gnawed before it died. Silently the spirit pointed over Harald's shoulder, he heard a shuffling in the snow behind him and threw a fiery spear as he span. The missile transfixed the troll that had been sneaking up on him to the far wall, three metres of iron through the heart would stop most enemies, and the fire would prevent it regenerating. The spirit from the bonepile bowed, then disintegrated, its form being stripped away by the wind, an expression of bliss on its face. At the end of the cavern there was another etching:

_Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world;  
Proving for all that their Voice too was strong;  
Although their sacrifices were many-fold_

Such was ever the case in war, victory required sacrifice. Harald walked on; behind him he felt the tugs as his following liberated more of their brothers. The Master of Death would always be a magnet to the unquiet dead. On Earth they were few, as only Wizards left ghosts, but here in Mundus, every sentient had a spirit form, not quite a ghost unless they were bound by a necromancer of similar, but they left imprints. This following behind him were all bound to the mountain, not by a malicious intent, but by their own desires.

_With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer;  
Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice;  
Whilst the Dragons withdrew from this World_

The First Empire of the Nords, established by the ancient heroes of the First Era, Derek the Tall, Jorg Helmbolg, Hoag Merkiller, said to have scorned siege engines when assaulting cities, instead Shouting the very doors off the gates.

Harald walked along further, the next etching was much closer than the last. Before he read it he looked out over the head of rock it was set on. Looking down on the land he saw the Holds of Falkreath and Whiterun, divided by a ridge of mountains. Directly below him was Riverwood, the island with the sawmill on it clearly visible, then on the ridge the architecture of a barrow, perhaps he would delve into the burial ground in the future. When he read the etching he knew why it was so close to the last one.

_The Tongues at Red Mountain went away humbled;  
Jurgen Windcaller began His Seven Year Meditation;  
To understand how Strong Voices could fail_

Ridiculous tablet, the First Empire halted its growth because of one man's failure? That could have been anything, the tactics of the enemy, the terrain; anything could have decided that battle. It seemed blunt to Harald as well, just as the reader learnt how Man won the Dragon War with their Voice, and conquered their rightful taking of Nirn from the conquered Dragons, they were defeated. It was not the elves who defeated the Dragons, it was Men, now this 'Jurgen Windcaller' abandoned that mandate.

_Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned;  
The 17 disputants could not shout Him down;  
Jurgen the Calm built His home on the Throat of the World_

Well perhaps that was impressive. Yet it was the wrong use of the Voice. Man had been granted a power from the Gods, they should use it, not squander this great power in building a monastery. Windcaller need not have projected his own defeated attitude on others, it was cowardly, if he wished to be pacifist he could have used the Voice to grow crops, or divert rivers, to help the people of the land.

Then Harald thought he began to understand the Way of the Voice.

Windcaller could not use the Voice for these things, the Nords became the Sky-Children became who they were today, the Nords, founders of an empire that stretched a continent, because of their environment. If the Voice was used flippantly it would become commonplace, a triviality. Only for True Needs could this power be used, if not, the road to decadence and the Fall.

Harald walked around the last corned and smiled. He could see High Hrothgar, a great tower and bastion against the snow winds. But before it, he could see Talos.

The sun was setting, his climb having taken most of the day, and his God waited, stern of face, strong of arm, his sword poised to strike against a rearing serpent. He knelt and read the etching, holding his amulet, feeling something buoying him up inside,

_For years all silent, the Greybeards spoke one name;  
Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to Hrothgar;  
They blessed and named him Dovahkiin_

And Harald was following in Talos' footsteps, he came to the last etching, to the right of the foreboding monastery.

_The Voice is worship;  
Follow the Inner path;  
Speak only in True Need_

His Voice would be used as all his abilities were, to fight evil, to protect his friends, as the priest in Windhelm had told him. And the Voice _was_ worship.

But his God was Talos, not Kyne, and Talos was worshiped on the battlefield, the place Harald knew himself to be needed, he would fight, and he would Shout, perhaps not in True Need, but following his own philosophy and no other, the power would be used honourably, but as he saw fit, not the disciples of Jurgen Windcaller thought.

Harald walked up the steps to the door, a dull bronze facade with many waving lines scored into it. He held out a hand to push it open, and walked forward into the dark.


	15. The Hidden Dragon

_I found this chapter particularly difficult to write, the Greybeards are quite awkward to get into character. But I'm pretty pleased with how it turned out._

_I've played about abit with the Shouts, fleshed them out from the game, someone tell me if I get something glaringly wrong. And I made one up, thought the game was lacking a healing Shout, and since Alduin can (sort of) do the same I didn't think it was that much of a stretch._

_Also, two of the most recent reviews were most amusing, firstly one complaining about me changing the name of the story, I was not aware this had happened? Has it? As far as I know it's still, and always has been 'the Unforeseen Variable'._

_The second review, the gem of those I've received so far, trumping even Mike's, .5's Makurayami's and various others, was from Guest 'wqop' and read:_ "Where's Harry Potter?"

_Sir, if I take my hat off to you._

* * *

The inner chambers of High Hrothgar were gray, stony, and carved extensively with patterns of shapes. Many of the carvings showed men directing their Voices into the sky, toward a light, no doubt a representation of Kynareth.

The place was dark and lit only by a few dim candles. Harald's eyes struggled to make out the shadows that crept around him and along the walls. He cast a Night-Eye on himself, finding it much easier to see now. Shades moved across the hall, either tricks of the light or imprints of departed monks. His footsteps echoed around the room and the sound of footfalls bounced against the ancient stone walls. He found himself stopping in the centre of the room, feeling unseen eyes gazing upon him.

"Another pilgrim, wishing to learn the Way of the Voice?" asked a whispering voice from behind him.

Harald turned around, the man behind him was around middle age, far younger than Harald would have thought, his face was lined extensively, and his beard was a white colour, rather than grey. He wore ornate robes, with several different layers, shoulder pads of dark cloth and a deep cowl covering his head.

"Yes Master." Replied Harald obsequiously. He had decided on his walk to actually try the Greybeards' methods, given the Jurgen Windcaller had defeated 17 other Tongues with the discipline.

"What is your name my son?" asked the Greybeard.

'_My son'?_ Harald asked himself, the man only looked to be around twenty years older than him, he was hardly a child.

"Harald." He replied, directing his eyes downward.

"You have an old name, mine is Gamall, I'm a lesser Master among the Greybeards, and their attendant." The Greybeard introduced.

Harald then endured a long speech from Gamall, they sat on uncomfortable chairs at an old stone table in an antechamber from the main hall.

"The Voice must only be used for-"

"True Needs." Harald interrupted, remembering the extensive and unsubtle hints coming up the path.

"Yes, you understand I see." Answered Gamall, giving a deep nod.

Harald simmered, he was finding this immensely tiresome, but knew he couldn't reveal himself, not yet. For one thing they would likely not believe him. The Dragonborn was shown by his ability to absorb and devour the souls of dragons, Harald had not done this, and could only Shout because he had been hit by a Shout from Sidgis Gauldurson._ Fus_ was the only word he knew and could Shout effectively, the others were ineffective.

"We use the Voice in worship of Kyne, the Lady of the Wilds." Explained Gamall further, lecturing him on the nature of the Voice.

Harald sighed, this could take some time.

* * *

The bed did not creak as Harald sat down on it. Nor did it make any noise but the slight rustling of the rough cloth the bedclothes were made from. It was a stone bed. The more permanent fixtures of High Hrothgar were all made of stone, the moveable ones, such as stools and chairs were wooden, and the doors a dull sort of metal that Harald had not identified.

He pulled off his boots and lay back, having just been walking on the mountainside, bathing in a mountain spring. His patience was being sorely tried. Every aspect of life in the monastery was solely devoted to the worship of Kynareth, this meant that things were as close to nature as possible, there was no hot water, very little cloth for blankets or clothes (with what little there was being rough and uncomfortable), the food was invariably dried and salted meat with few vegetables. Harald longed for an apple!

So far he had ingratiated himself as Harald the Country Bumpkin Nord from Windhelm. This persona was firmly established in the mind of Gamall, and he saw little of the other Masters, their Voices far too powerful for him to withstand. Gamall was very pleased that he had come; the Greybeard was almost ready to take on the title of 'Master of the Voice' and his Voice would then be too powerful for mundane ears, Gamall had it in his mind to groom Harald for his replacement as major-domo of the temple. He had not said this, per see, but Harald had read his intentions from the man's eyes.

The Greybeard was surprised at Harald's understanding of the theory of the use of the Voice, Harald covering himself by telling Gamall that he had heard stories from his father, as well as traveling to Whiterun to learn from the priest there.

He had learnt little so far, which was expected but disappointing. He had learnt two new Words from Gamall, after the Greybeard had satisfied himself during the five weeks Harald had been there that the visitor would use the Voice only to worship Kyne. The first new word he learnt was just that, '_Kaan'_, the first Word in the Shout Kyne's Peace, which could calm animals and occasionally men. Harald thought this quite a useful Shout if traveling, particularly since his encounter with the bear on his journey up the mountain. Gamall did not think this a proper use for it, believing instead that one should Shout into the sky, to the wind which was apparently Kyne's influence here. Harald wished Kyne would be less dammed cold.

The second Word was _Laas_, meaning 'Life', this would detect the presence of people, animals, Animunculi such as Dwemer constructs, undead, and daedra, but not of trees and other such plant life. In short, anything with a purpose, even animals had a purpose, that purpose may have been very simple, 'Eat, Sleep, Mate' but it was still a reason to live, similarly, the Dwemer machines had the purposes of guarding or patrolling. The stronger a creatures purpose the stronger it would glow when the Word was used. A rabbit Harald had watched only glowed softly, but the Greybeards positively blazed, so focused was their dedication to Kyne.

However, in actuality, Harald had learnt far more that Gamall was willing to teach him. He sat each morning in the courtyard as the Elder Masters went to practice, ostensibly meditating on the meaning of Words but actually spying. One of the Masters would sit on a high tower and bellow at the sky, another would break small rocks and a third would knock objects of pedestals, all with their voice, occasionally one would use a shout to propel himself faster than the eye could follow through a gate.

After each practice he would ask Gamall for the Words the Masters were using, then Gamall would softly speak them, the air would shimmer, and the Word would appear in livid, flaming characters on a surface, a usually the floor, but sometimes a wall. Gamall saw no reason he should not explain the meanings of the Words to Harald, because Harald would only be able to truly understand the Words with decades of study and consideration.

That was what he thought anyway.

It was an impression Harald actively promoted, being careful only to Shout in the chasm he had found after casting as many protective wards on it as he was able to. In this way he learn much, first, he learnt the remaining words to Kyne's Peace and the Aura Whisper Shouts, as well as the _Zun Haal Viik_, the shout that knocked the pots and rocks off their pedestals, Harald knew from the words, 'Weapon Hand Defeat' that the true purpose of the Shout was to Disarm the opponent.

The Shout known as 'Whirlwind Sprint' gave him some trouble. He expected from the words 'Whirlwind Fury Tempest' that the Shout would produce, well, a Whirlwind or Tempest, or some other weather effect. However it did not, it launched the caster or rather 'Tongue' forward at a furious rate. Harald saw this to be quite dangerous, and had taken to using only one of the Word of it. This shot him forward around fifty feet, while the next two increased the distance to seventy-five and one hundred respectively. As there was rarely an open hundred feet on the mountain, and Harald had no wish to soar off into the sky, he was careful.

Out of all the Shouts that one's mechanics were perhaps the most interesting. The Shout somehow reduced inertia, meaning that accelerating from 0 to 51.1 miles per hour (Harald had worked it out) only gave a small pull on his body, rather than his internal organs being crushed to a paste when he stopped. This was not to say the end result was a total standstill, if he ran and used it he came out running as well. Or, if he impacted on an object he would most likely break straight through it. Harald weighed around 25 stone in armour, that weight, propelled at the rate of 51.1 miles per hour would most likely be able to know down walls if he tried to and didn't mind a dislocated shoulder. It would certainly be able to bowl a group of people over if he needed to. Another interesting thing about the Shout was that while 'Sprinting' he was not subject to gravity, there was no appreciable drop if he tried the Shout over a body of water, like a river, theoretically he would be able to Shout the Words from one edge of a gap, and appear on the other, provided they were the same height. The Shout followed the path of least resistance, like all energy, so if he ran up a slope it would accelerate him up it at a magnificent rate.

Harald also began to theorise on the different Words, in the case of Whirlwind sprint adding more Words to the Shout did not multiply the effect by the number of Words, to put this simply, one word should equal 50 feet, two, 100 feet, and so on. However, 100 feet was only reached with three Words. Obviously the addition of Words had an effect different from a simple multiplier.

"_Laas_" whispered Harald, he saw the four dark red-brown signatures of the Greybeards, one asleep from the horizontal position, one concentrated, most likely sleeping, the other vertical, standing. The first word gave the awareness of Life.

"_Laas Yah" _He hissed slightly louder, 'Seek' made the signs blaze brighter, sending out tendrils further, showing where they had been, like a cloud of fog following in their wake.

"_Laas Yah Nir" _Harald said loudly, commanding his will through his Voice. The last Word of the trio, 'Hunt' gave him an incredible awareness of the world, he no longer saw solely through his mortal eyes, but had awareness of all around him, like he was looking down from above, or perhaps behind himself. He suddenly was aware of each life and knew intrinsically how to end said lives.

The last word was an unsettling one, it gave him the aspect of the Hunter, one of the true forms of the _Dov,_ Harald thought that the stories of Dragon's incredible eyesight and powers of perceiving were due in main to that Shout.

With each Shout he learned his understood different levels of it over time. There were nuances that came with understanding, like discovering that your desk had a secret draw one day.

When once he used '_Laas'_ near Master Irgil, he saw a blackness deep in the Master's chest, buried inside the red of his body. Red was the blood, his life as it was pumped round by the heart, but the blackness had taken a strong hold. Harald thought it was a cancer, or maybe some other sickness, pneumonia from living in the damp, cold, conditions.

He had approached Master Irgil, speaking softly as he man ate. He had explained that he had skill in healing, and wanted to help the man. But Irgil only paused eating, sat quietly listening as Harald outlined the procedure, then put a hand on Harald's shoulder to still him. He nodded to tell Harald he already knew, and Harald saw in his eyes that Irgil was ready for his death.

Harald walked into the snow after that, he was found later by Gamall, who explained that Master Irgil knew it was Kyne's Will that he die, and was happier for it, 'rather to know death comes and to prepare for it' he said.

Harald had never been comfortable with the death of people he had an emotional attachment with. He could kill a stranger, just seeing a blur of another face under his sword, not considering them a person until he counted the bodies after the battle and felt their spirits depart. But with his friends, or rather, mentors, such as Irgil whom he now had a deep respect for, he felt powerless to stop it. As Master of Death he could have commanded that Irgil live, could have healed the sickness, and that made it much worse, the man refused treatment, and much as he wanted to, Harald would not force the healing on him. He believed that he would be with his God, and Harald would not deny that to him, giving the old man what solace he had left.

The only solace Irgil had given Harald himself was _Slen Qeth Haas_. Spoken in a whisper by the Master these Words carved the fiery letters into the table top, 'Flesh Bone Health'. Harald could see the red around the black in Irgil's chest recede slightly under the impact of his Voice. He understood, Irgil was his own healer, he would preserve his life with the same tool he used for everything, his Voice.

Harald had used _Laas_ standing in front of a mirror, driven to by some purpose in the back of his mind.

He had been surprised and somewhat alarmed when he looked at his body. He had the normal red glow, but overlaying it were a series of runes, on closer inspection they were the Hallows, a stream of line, circle and triangle, they themselves made up of the same shapes, and so on and so on, till the symbols grew too small to read.

One set encircled his left arm, where the Wand was, or had been. Another came up from his right hand, the Ring on his finger. A third crossed over his shoulders where the Cloak attached normally.

Apparently just as _Laas_ showed Life it showed Death. He would not use _Dinok_, Death, he was too wary of what he'd see.

He felt a vibration from his side, and reaching into his pouch he drew out his Mirror.

"Harald." Came a soft female voice from the other side, just as the call connected.

"Siva." He greeted warmly, looking at the woman's face filling the slate, red eyes glinting in the candlelight of her cell in Winterhold.

"He there?" asked a nasal voice from Winterhold.

"Savos." Harald greeted equally warmly, pleased to see both of them, apparently Savos had not brought his own slate and was sharing the call on his own. "Why so late?" he asked, he was curious rather than annoyed though.

"Several reasons." Replied Savos' voice, Siva, who still had the slate directed toward her solely, looked apologetic. Harald smiled at her, she smiled back, "First blizzards forced us to stop in Windhelm for a week." Continued Savos, then the roads were blocked by landslides and avalanches for another week after that till they were cleared, eventually your steersman came and picked us up."

A flicker of distaste passed over Siva's eyes, they narrowed slightly and her lip curled upwards. Siva did not like boats.

"Haestan?" Harald asked, "He's back?"

"Oh yes," said Savos, "Weeks ago, made better time than us, then worked out our probably journey from there."

"Clever." Contributed Siva.

Harald sniggered; Savos gave a little snort from out of picture. "Indeed, a surprisingly intelligent man…for a Nord."

"I resent that entirely true comment." Said Harald, making Siva smile, Nords were valourous in battle and a strong people, but they were not known for their cleverness.

Savos' voice went on, another sound in the background, Harald thought it sounded like the clinking of glass and then the rough grinding of a mortar against pestle. "Anyway, after that we didn't know if you were busy with the Greybeards, so we didn't contact you, then after that-"

"Thalmor." Said Siva. Her eyes narrowed in real distaste now.

Harald puzzled, the Thalmor were the far away government of the Aldmeri Dominion, on the Summerset Isles, they were elven supremacists, though in reality they were Altmer supremacists, though they included the Bosmer province of Valenwood in their Dominion. There had been talk of rising tensions from Hammerfell and around Bravil since the Dominion had annexed the province of Elsweyr. Now the Empire stood at four from its original eight after the loss of Black Marsh and most of Morrowind. It was oddly appropriate, elves against men, with the exception of the Dunmer and the Khajiit, who only made up small portions of the armies of both states. Harald had spoken with an Imperial Legate in Solitude who had waxed extensively on the subject, predicting a war soon.

"But why are they at the College?" he asked the Arens, he suspected some trickery, spies perhaps, the College was after all one of the main magical factions in the Empire, along with the College of Whispers and the Synod.

"Well he says he's here as an 'advisor to the Arch-Mage'."

"Who?" asked Harald, Savos, like the Greybeards, was a master of _speaking_ much but _saying_ nothing.

"Allar, Allair, something like that, didn't speak to him." Replied Savos, the sound of bubbling not coming through the connection, definitely alchemy.

"His name was Alarendir." Siva told him, her eyes darting to the left quickly, presumably to where Savos was standing.

Harald assessed that, it was interesting, and he would have to restrict his movements somewhat in future at the College. If war between the Dominion and the Empire were to come he would be on the front lines, and he wanted the Thalmor to know about him even less than he did the Empire.

"What's he like?" he asked, wanting to gauge this elf.

"Dismissive, arrogant, no doubt knowledgeable though." Said Savos, walking across the picture holding a vial fill of some green substance. "Siva thinks he's handsome."

Harald's dragonblood roared, he heard a whisper of the Song.

"I do not!" Siva protested, looking somewhat fearfully at the slate, her eyes wider than they had been a second before. Harald's blood cooled, his face fell into his normal expression, the sneer that it had been contorted in falling from it.

"I saw the way you were looking at him." said Savos, bustling back across the chamber, this time a blue crystal in hand.

"I merely admired his skill in Destruction."

Harald's beast roared again, he was a Wizard and a _Dov_ both; nothing could destroy like he could. His mind raced, _Nir, _Hunt nearly coming to his lips that he might hunt down and destroy this transgressor. The Arens were his! Especially Siva, no one else would have them.

"What other events of note occurred?" he asked with as much warmth as he could muster, falling into formality in his anger, turning the fire of his _Dovah Sos_ to ice, the cold inevitable death.

Siva looked hurt, but at the same time happy, Harald somehow read relief in her eyes. "A Breton arrived, a Healer from the Reach named Dunlain." She said, her voice growing stronger and more confident.

"Ah yes," said Savos snidely, a ringing noise underlying his voice.

"Well?" asked Harald.

Siva answered, the ringing noise had changed to a high hum, "Savos distains Restoration, he doesn't think it's a proper School."

"I know one spell from it, and that is enough, every other spell does exactly the same thing, only in a different magnitude or in an area." Said Savos, the humming ceasing and him dragging a large metal contraption across the picture to stand it in the middle. "It's ridiculous!" he continued, adjusting the stand, "why would I wish to turn the undead when I can simply destroy them?" he asked the room at large. "And the fool thinks that Wards are part of his School, when they are clearly a part of Alteration." He said, concluding his tirade against Dunlain.

Harald had observed that Savos was very quick to abuse and disregard other magic users, especially if they couldn't defend themselves. This was not to say Savos was a coward, he was surprisingly bold, or rather reckless, in certain circumstances.

Siva sighed and got up, bringing the slate with her to the edge of the balcony to the bottom of the Hall of Attainment, the swirling blue column of Aetherian energy rising behind her. She leant against it, angling the slate on her legs.

"I didn't really think the Thalmor was handsome." She assured him, a trace of uncertainty in her eyes.

Harald grinned wolfishly, or rather _draconically. _He knew she hadn't, after his _Sos_ had calmed down he saw how ludicrous his bout of angry paranoia was.

"How are you?" he asked her.

Siva tilted her head, "Incredibly bored." She confessed, giving a short laugh.

"Go destroy something." Harald advised her.

"Cant." She replied, looking off to the side of the screen, her brother still ranting about the Breton addition to the College, apparently not having observed that he had no audience.

"Oh?" Harald asked.

"Best behaviour for the Thalmor." She explained, brows furrowing and lips pouting.

"So go destroy him, then you won't have to behave anymore." Harald saw the spark in her eyes. "Actually on second thoughts, don't, it's a bad idea, I'll do it."

He would as well, if she asked him to.

Siva laughed again. "When are you coming home?" she asked.

Something fluttered in Harald's chest, just below his heart, and he acknowledged it, Winterhold was his home.

"Soon" he said.

"You said monthly." Siva berated him.

"Actually I said I would visit the _College_ monthly." Harald pointed out, he had no memory of any such promise, but he disliked losing, even at word games.

"And?"

"You didn't get there till three weeks ago, meaning I still have a few days."

"You have two." She ordered, closing the connection, mirth dancing in her eyes.

Harald smiled and went to sleep.

* * *

"You are ready for you first true Shout."

Harald laughed inwardly at the old man's hypocrisy. If the Voice was given by the Divines, surely every Word and every Shout was equally valid, and therefore equally true? Perhaps Gamall meant that he had not learned all three Words of a Shout yet and was going to teach him those.

"It is named 'Unrelenting Force' . The first Word is _Fus_." The Greybeard told him, looking serious, eyes locked with his.

Harald said nothing, staring back, Gamall often did this, it would have been unnerving for a lesser man, to look someone who could kill you with a whisper. But Harald was not a lesser man; he was a Dragon, _Dovahkiin._

Also he had worked out the way to kill a Greybeard if he ever needed to. They were all old, slow men who relied on their Voice for defence. If he got close enough he could use that strength, and turn it against them. The deep hoods they all wore were vulnerable to an attack to the throat, stopping them from speaking or Shouting. Leading to quick death.

"It is called _Force_ in your tongue. But as you push the world, so does the world push you back. Think of the way force may be applied effortlessly. Imagine but a whisper pushing aside all in its path. That is _Fus._ Let its meaning fill you. Breath and focus."

"Sky Above, Voice Within." Harald reeled off, seeing into Gamall's soul as he spoke about _Fus_. He saw a memory, a younger man, blue wave speeding from his mouth, the flames of a burning house being extinguished, the fire bending under the wave.

Harald already knew _Fus_, it was one of his favourite Shouts, but he had not thought of it in that way.

"I will push the world harder than it pushes me back." He told Gamall.

"Yes, just so." Said the old man, sounding very much like Dumbledore, "That is the way, now let us learn the second Word. _Ro_" he intoned, his Voice carving _Ro_ on the ground in the red letters.

Harald saw the lights speeding toward him and took pains not to react to them; the Song was oddly not present when he absorbed a Word 'written' by one of the Greybeards.

"_Ro _is the second Word in Unrelenting Force, and means 'Balance' in the Dragon Tongue. Combine it with _Fus_, Force, to focus your Thu'um more sharply." Gamall explained.

As Harald had thought, the second Word was the aiming mechanism for _Dah_.

"As your Thu'um rushes forward, consider, who will it effect?" said Gamall philosophically. "As it travels, who will you Push?" he asked, looking Harald in the eye again.

_Old Fool. _Harald thought, taking Gamall's understanding of _Ro _and _Dah_ as well, the light he received from Word Walls coming this time from the Master's eyes. He knew full well who he would 'Push', that Thalmor spy for one, right off of Winterhold's cliff.

"Now let us see how you use your new _Rotmulaag, _your new Word." Instructed Gamall, walked a small space apart from Harald.

"Use your Unrelenting Force Shout to strike the targets as they appear." Gamall commanded.

"_Fiik…Lo Sah!" _The Greybeard Shouted, his Voice brought forth a spectral copy of himself, like a blue ghost.

Harald thought quickly, his pretence had to continue. He must make it appear as if he were merely mortal.

"_Fus Ro!"_ he Shouted, far too quickly, jumbling the Words in his 'excitement' at learning new Shout.

"Almost," said Gamall patronisingly, "Try again." He Shouted again. 'Mirror Deceive Phantom'.

Harald got the briefest of understanding of the essence of the Shout necessary to create the 'Spectral Copy', the Tongue had to hold the _Sah_ of the thing he was trying to _Copy_ in his head, then project it out, willing it though his Voice to appear. Gamall had unwittingly taught him yet another Shout.

Harald decided to mangle the pronunciation of the Shout this time. Instead of incanting '_Ro'_ as it was meant to be, he pronounced it as a 'short O', as in 'Fox' or 'Box', whereas it was meant to be a 'long O' as in 'Row' or 'Toe'.

The phantom faded away again, unruffled by his Voice.

"Perhaps you should meditate on this Shout further." Said Gamall, frowning but maintain his sweet smile.

"Please Master, once more, I think I have it!" lied Harald.

"Very well my child, once more, _Fiik, Lo Sah!"_

"_Fus Ro!"_ Harald Shouted, properly this time. The blue ripple this time in two separate ripples, one for each word, the second pressing close behind the first and giving it _Balance_ to strike the Spectral Clone.

The Copy staggered and fizzled out, breaking up from the point of impact.

"Well done." Exclaimed Gamall, patting Harald on the shoulder, who withe difficulty restrained a grimace. "You have done well today, and later perhaps we may learn more, but come, let us find a _Yol_ to drive away the chill."

Gamall led away, Harald followed, _So '_Yol'_ was fire was it? Most interesting. _He thought to himself.

They sat on the ground, well, Harald did, Gamall adopted a sort of kneeling stance, one foot over the other. Harald had tried it, it hurt his ankles.

"We must discuss your future, your _Dez."_ Said Gamall, looking at him over the brazier. "The Voice is a great power, and it must be exercised with wisdom." The Greybeard was reminding him more and more of a certain manipulative Headmaster.

They were seeking to control him, to limit his actions to their designs. His _Dovah Sos_ burned.

"It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." He spat back, more angrily than he had meant to.

Gamall looked both deeply impressed and frustrated by his statement.

"Just so," said the Greybeard slowly, hands clasped, "Yet, the Voice must be only used in tribute to Kyne, upon _Monahven_."

_Monahven_, 'Mother Wind', meaning the Throat of the World. They were warning him, perhaps threatening him not to use the Voice anywhere but the Monastery.

"Sky Above, Voice Within." He mumbled.

"Just so." Repeated Gamall again "Your Suleyk, your Power grows with every passing day."

Harald nodded his appreciation, there was little to reply to that.

"Have I told you the finer details of the Thu'um?" Gamall asked, hands on his knees, Harald shook his head. "Then I shall."

"The Thu'um is a form of magic." The Greybeard began, "but it is also the Will of the Divines." He said, hands rising to the sky like some deranged prophet. "It was original granted to humans by Kynareth, the Goddess of Sky and mother of all beasts, but it was later granted by Akatosh, the Lord of Gods, and the great Dov, _dragon_."

"'Who Spoke only in True Need'" Harald quoted from the etchings on the Steps, knowing it would tickle Gamall's ego to see him so pious.

"Just so."

How aggravating that phrase was.

"The Tongues, the users of the Voice, have no special ability with the more traditional magics," continued Gamall, "like any other discipline, the magic that stems from Aetherius must also be practiced and explored."

Harald waited, before asking a question that had bothered him since his arrival. "What about the tightness? Why does that happen?" he asked, gesturing to his throat.

"The tightness?" Repeated Gamal slowly, his brow furrowed. "Ah, yes. That is the Thu'um trying to force its way out of your throat. You see, it is very powerful, and as such it is difficult to restrain. Only those of the, _Dovah Sos_, those who are the Dragonborn are likely to be able to fully control it."

_Interesting_, Thought Harald, he had always been able to force his Thu'um back down, able to restrain the _Dov_ inside him.

"Everyone else, including us," Continued Gamall, fiddling with the frayed ends of his sleeves, "have to release it or lose consciousness. As you can imagine though, this is an uncomfortable experience and so most allow it out. Leaving it for longer gives you less control over its final projection."

_Weak_, sneered the _Dovahkiin_ in his thoughts.

"I thought the _Rotmulaag_, the words of power_,_ controlled the Thu'um." He queried.

Gamall frowned. "They do, to an extent, but as with all magic it is often unpredictable. It is far more powerful than traditional magic though, but at a loss to its control. It can sometimes backfire, and it can destroy you_._"

Harald privately doubted that, but said nothing, perhaps it could destroy a human, but no Dragon ever died from misusing their own Voice.

"Now, I believe that is enough for a day." Gamall said, breaking Harald from his thoughts. "You should rest; tomorrow you will learn the final and most powerful Word of Unrelenting Force."

"My thanks, Master Gamall." Harald said, and got up, pulled his cloak around himself and walked out to the edge of the cliff briefly, trying to see down the slope, but it was swarmed with low cloud and he could only see streams of grey circling the mountain's base.

He missed the real-_lein_, the world. The Greybeards were too isolated. He had spent almost two months in High Hrothgar now, and while he had been tutored in all manner of things, such as history, Words, animal species, the Thu'um and even the more precise arts of strategy, which the Greybeards only studied as an academic exercise, rather than a practical one.

In all, he was eager to complete his education, two months was a long time for a man of action to be cooped up at the top of a mountain without any companions to laugh with or enemies to fight. He felt stifled, and he seriously contemplated how any of the Greybeards managed to actually live up here, there were four for good reason no doubt, and judging from what he had heard previously of the order, it was no wonder many aspirants went away 'disappointed'.

Night was closing in on the Throat of the World, he was due to be around two hundred miles north in a day, as he had promised to Siva, a promise he would not break. The Hidden _Dovah_ would soon stretch his wings.

* * *

Harald groggily flailed around under his pillow, he had been awakened by a loud hum from under the cloth bundle.

"She likes me!" came a muffled but joyous shout from the slate once he extracted it.

"Jergen, it is very early." Harald growled at him, he could barely see in his cell, the light of what was most likely dawn peeking in through the window.

"Well perhaps not likes, but she doesn't hate me!" came the voice again.

Harald sighed; he would likely not be getting any more sleep.

"What happened?" he asked, cracking one rheumy eyelid open, holding the slate so that he could see his protégé. Jergen was sitting somewhere insider, Harald could not make out the details in the light.

"Well nothing much happened for a few weeks, just did contracts around Whiterun, Yvette was away in Falkreath, then we both got put on a contract to take on a bandit camp in some old ruin in the mountains, you would have liked it," Jergen explained quickly, "You're into old stuff like that,"

_No, I'm 'into' Power. _Corrected Harald but didn't say it.

"Anyway, I fought like you told me to; I held my ground, attracted their attention and killed a few while Yvette and Ular shot the rest." Jergen said.

"And?" Harald asked.

"She said 'well done' to me afterwards and told me that I fought with honour." Jergen said proudly.

Harald considered how lucky he was that the only person he might be remotely interested in already liked him back.

"You wear my armour?" Harald asked, not being able to give any particularly good advice whilst being as tired as he was. A blizzard had howled for most of the night, rattling the glass of his window in their panes and keeping him up.

"Yep." Replied Jergen happily.

"How was it?"

"Too big," said Jergen, showing Harald through the slate his suit of armour, neatly placed on a mannequin in the corner of Jergen's room.

"Where abouts?" questioned Harald, looking for signs of injury on Jergen.

"Boots, had to use my own, you have huge feet. Then the leg plates were to loose so I had to adjust them, and after that I couldn't move properly at all in the torso armour." Said Jergen, rubbing his shoulder.

"Take it to Gray-Mane." Instructed Harald, "Have it adjusted."

"Really?" asked Jergen in wonder, a full suit of armour, made of good materials and in good condition, along with the minor charms Harald had set on it would be worth a considerable amount to a relatively poor Companion like Jergen.

"I gave it to you didn't I?" asked Harald rhetorically. "Continue to act with honour, preserve the legacy of Ysgramor and all that."

Jergen began to thank him, and seemed to be on the verge of blubbering, the still red scars on his face contrasting with this image.

"Words not deeds." Harald reminded him and threw the slate across the room, ending the connecting and hanging up. He rolled over, thanking whatever chance meant he had no proper mirror to hand and had to make the communications devices out of ebony, you could literally throw it down a mountain and the connection would hold.

The dawn light still filtered it and Harald felt the cloying tiredness, his eyes stinging slightly with each blink as he lay on his back, trying to get to sleep. He was unsuccessful and instead walked outside to the Courtyard. The Wind was biting, Kyne evidently feeling displeased at something.

"_Fo Krah Diin!"_ came a Shout from above, Gamall's Voice.

"_Laas"_ Harald whispered, finding the other Masters still abed.

He climbed the steep steps to the top of the tower. Gamall was sitting at the top, kneeling in the Greybeard fashion.

"Master." Harald greeted and announced himself.

"Harald, did you sleep well?" the Greybeard asked.

Harald yawned. "_Od Strun, _the snow stormduring the night." He explained.

"Ah." Gamall responded "The Lady _Kaan_ works in mysterious ways."

_Or it's because we live on a mountain at the moment._ Thought Harald.

"Yet is was Kyne's Will to give Man his Voice, and through it we may affect Kyne's sphere." Said Gamall, standing up. "Watch, _Lok Vah Koor!" _He Shouted, projecting his Voice into the sky.

Harald watched in amazement as the Shout cleared the sky of clouds, the white melting away where the stream of compressed air hit it. The sky began rapidly clearing, leaving the Mountain unclouded but for the peak which was always misty. The Clear Skies Shout had much the same effect as the Unrelenting Force Shout, with both throwing a pressure wave out of the Tounge's mouth.

"This Shout is 'Clear Skies'" explained Gamall, you will soon use in the Passage to the summit to meet our leader."

"Your leader?" asked Harald, "I thought there was only four of you?"

"Five." Corrected Gamall, "You have learnt many of the Shouts that are the first steps on the Way of the Voice, yet you must understand them to further your journey, this can only be accomplished by visiting Paarthurnax."

"The Dragon that taught Man the Voice?" Harald asked, remembering the etchings, surprised that they turned out to be true, and even more surprised that there was a Dragon living little more than a few thousand feet away without him perceiving it. He wondered if he'd have to kill it in the future.

"It took me two years to learn what you have in just over a month." said Gamall with a hint of something unidentifiable in his voice. "It was then that I used my Voice to open the way." Gamall told him, pointing toward the archway up to the summit of the mountain. There was a constant and most probably magical veil of fast moving, but freezing air, making it impossible to walk through, Harald had tried. The cold air snatched away whatever breath he took, and he felt his lungs actively freezing. Even with the application of protective wards it was still impossible to pass.

"Follow me." Gamall said, stepping to the edge of the platform of the tower.

Harald frowned, were they going to fly down? He knew a few charms but–

"_Feim_." The Greybeard said, rather than Shouting, Harald could still feel the power of the Voice, but it was more an instinctual response, rather than an auditory one.

The Shout turned the Gamall into a spectre, Harald found it disturbingly reminiscent to the dead that he had seen, their ghosts swirling around him as the bearer of the Hallows. Even more disturbingly Gamall then stepped lightly off the tower, floating down, his Ethereal form carried on the wind.

Harald looked at the Greybeard waiting on the ground below. The old man beckoned to him.

"_Feim_." He whispered, and felt his throat grow cold. He tried to touch one of the pillars that held the stone roof above him, his hand passing right through it. It was not quite 'Wraithform' Voldemort and Snape had used and that he had re-discovered and used to occasionally fly, but nor was it the touch of Death, when he passed into the Hallows. The 'Spectral Clone' was blue, the Wraithform was a dark colour not easily identifiable, seeing to shift as the eye looked at it. The Hallows were grey, the lights of a Word Wall red and gold, but this seemed to be a silver colour, and of all the different states of existence he could operate in, this was the strangest. He did feel 'faded' as the Shout was translated into the Dragon Tongue. _Feim. _'Fade'.

He stepped off of the stonework, guiding his direction more by will than by the movements of his muscles. He floated down, coming to a rest next to Gamall, bouncing slightly on the snow.

The coldness faded and Harald rematerialized on the mountain, dropping a short distance as the snow below him compressed under his weight.

"Everything mortal fades away in time, but the spirit remains. Ponder the meaning of spirit. Where mortal flesh may wither and die, the spirit endures." Said Gamall, speaking softly, a slight breeze fluttering snowflakes into his beard.

Harald said nothing, watching the Greybeard's eyes.

"There is one final Word you must learn, it is the final part of the first Shout that was taught to Man in the dawning ages of the world." Gamall said, "You have surpassed my finest expectations, and upon learning this Shout you will be considered a Greybeard."

Harald saw the other three Masters walking out from the monastery, Irgil supported by the other two, by this time the sick man was very close to death. Harald wondered if he had stopped his treatment using the 'Flesh Bone Health' Shout, perhaps in some misguided attempt to preserve the number of Greybeards, so that he might join them, another must die.

"You are ready to learn the final word of Unrelenting Force." Said Gamall, "Used with the others the Shout is much more powerful…Use it wisely."

"_Dah_." One of the unnamed Masters spoke, the ripple traveling out and into the ground. Two lines and a dot made up the first character, then the second three more scratches. Harald locked onto it and felt the understanding of the Shout flow into him.

"Master Irgil will give you his understanding of the Word, he has made it clear to us that he wishes to see the newest addition to our monastery before he dies."

Harald had been right; the old man was dying for him. Well, he could do nothing about it; the Greybeards would have their way.

Irgil shrugged his helpers off and walked forward under his own power. His steps were the shuffling walk of the old and robe wearing. He staggered slightly grasping Harald's proffered arms. He coughed through his nose, keeping his mouth closed and exhaling deeply in a rattling breath.

Harald looking into the Master's eyes, they were deeply wrinkled, and partly cloudy with cataracts.

Irgil bent at the waist, only holding Harald's arms for support, but then released them, standing. He brought his arms into his chest, then out in a courtly bow, the last action of a brave man. As he unbent Harald saw the lights from his body, rushing swiftly from his heart and his eyes, absorbed by Harald, the two men linked by the knowledge of the Thu'um. Harald heard intakes of breath around him, and knew the other Greybeards could see this.

Harald received the knowledge of _Dah._ But he received much more, a lifetime of experience flowed from Irgil, though his eyes, the windows to his soul, the _Dovah Sos_ did not roar, not did the Dragon thrash and rage in Harald's chest, it understood the sacrifice Irgil was making, and through the connection Harald could see Irgil's _Laas_, his Life, the ochre mist fading from his hands, fading as the blackness of the cancer in the Master's chest attacked his body with a renewed fury.

As Harald saw Irgil's life, beginning in as the son of a merchant in High Rock, then traveling across Tamirel as a mercenary, and finally climbing the seven thousand steps to High Hrothgar, Irgil was seeing Harald's life. It all passed within seconds, streams of gold and red and white flying between them in a blur of colours, smells and sounds.

Then Irgil started to weaken, the blackness occupying his entire body, quickly making its way into his head and brain, the last of the organs to fail. The Greybeard pushed, forcing the connection to widen, Harald did not just see the old man's life now, he lived it.

"_Dovahkiin." _MasterIrgil whispered, his eyes going suddenly wide. Harald saw reflected in the Greybeards eyes a dozen Word Walls, each with ropes of energy coming from them, one of Mount Anthor, another in the bowels of Raven Rock, and the rest that he had visited besides. Irgil had learned his secret, and sunk to his knees, pulling Harald down with him, still grasping the younger man's arms in old but still strong fingers.

Strange characters flashed across Harald's vision, hundreds of Words made by Dragons and their Cult first and then copied in secret over long years by primordial Atmorans, then finally set up by Nords in remembrance of their honoured dead.

_Here In Your Mind. _Whispered a hoarse voice, the voice of a Greybeard as he forced his decades of study of the Dragon Tongue into Harald's head.

Harald flinched back, his _Dovah Sos_ burned, the beast inside him awakened and began to roar again, devouring Irgil's soul, the sum of all his experiences.

Irgil's arms began to disintegrate, his flesh turning to golden embers, carried far out on the mountain wind over high Skyrim's plains.

Harald saw a bright light, an explosion engulfing him, rushing toward him and carrying his conscious away, he slumped to the ground, his world plunging into darkness, the last sound he heard the shocked bellowing of a man.

* * *

Vulindinok rose, sloughing off his old form. His great silver-black wings extended over the space, mighty clawed pinions flapping in the _Krah_. He towered over the _Joore_, panicking and running to a pile of dusty bones just before him. Mortals would never understand the _Bahlok_, the Hunger that consumed a _Dov_.

Dragons were built for domination, and he had showed his might, ripping free the knowledge of the _Wuth Jun. _

They Shouted at him, their Rotmulaag crashing like the small waves on the boulders of a rocky shore.

The Dragon looked down at his wings, they were misshapen and had a finger more than he was used to. It was odd, he felt another pair of wings extending from his back. What were this first pair of misshapen ones?

Vulindinok searched the mind of his Host; the puny mortal mind had been devastated by his release, but seemed to be reforming itself. The Dragon plunged forward, seizing it like he had so many deer and_ Key_, and men too. The _Jor _put up a fight, surprising for one of its short-lived kind. Vulindinok had slaughtered millions of them in his time.

Haal, 'Hand' in the _Joore_ _Tinvaak._

Vulindinok was mildly surprised, rare for a _Dovah_, he had six limbs, his legs, puny though they were, his _Viings_, stretching out, and these 'arms'. He searched in the Host's mind for something to make himself less weak. He could endure the small whispers of the _Bron_, the Nords, easily, but his host's body was not that of the _Dov._

He found a Shout, the Host had not understood it, only stumbling across it as did the _Joore_ every discovery. On an island far to the north, covered in part with the foolishness of the _Fahliil_.

"_Mulaag!_" Vulindinok Shouted. He felt his _Haal_ grow strong, his sharp talons appearing in the bright swirling light of the Thu'um. His scales covered the puny Host's body like the scythes of mortal farmers tilling their _Frod._

The robed Nords continued to assault him vainly, using their Voices. Vulindinok snarled, they were like the bites of a fly, but the flies still vexed him. He promised them that the weak shall fear his Thu'um!

"_Faas Ru Maar!" _he Shouted, and the _Joore_ ran in terror. His roar was like the fires of _Faal Krein_.

Vulindinok struck like the _Vith_, petty scaled and slithering cousin of the mighty _Dovah._ He impaled the fleeing _Joore_ on his claws, sinking through the mortal's body, brushing aside flesh and bone.

As he savoured the patterns the _Sos_ made on the snow he felt a presence from above him. Something large, larger than he swooped down, landing in the Courtyard infront of him.

It was a _Dovah, _and old one by the standards of his race, its _Viing_ were scored and tattered and its teeth and horns chipped. A _Dovah _would degrade if they sat for too long and did not taste the kiss of the _Ven_ on their wings, the _Dovah_ snapped at him, mouth open.

Vulindinok let the _Joore's_ body drop from his talons, and stalked toward the _Dovah._

"_Drem_. Patience." He told it, "There are formalities that must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the Dov." Vulindinok smiled, his great horns sparkling in all their glory as his head tilted in amusement. "By long tradition, the elder speaks first!" This young _Dovah _had made that mistake, in seeing his Host and thinking he was a _Joor_.

"Hear my Thu'um! Feel it in your bones and on your wings. Match it, if you are of the _Dov_!" he bellowed, his voice triple-timbred, the mortal _Zul_, his inert Thu'um, and the language of the _Dov_, echoing through his head, his Host unused to speaking in the True Tongue.

"_Yol Toor Shul!"_ Vulindinok Shouted, the fire leaping from his mouth in a great roar.

The upstart _Dovah_ recoiled, unable to withstand his Voice. As all of creation, Vulindinok was unrelenting, inevitable, and all would bow before him in time.

Yet, his Host was weak, as were all _Joore_. He needed first to regain his old body, then he could carry out his plans.

Vulindinok flapped his great wings, they left faint traces where his Shout had strengthened them, and lifted him easily off the ground. The wounded _Dovah_ below him cried pitifully in pain, wyrms of fire swooping all around it, biting at its wings and flanks. Vulindinok laughed, his throaty chuckle echoing on the mountainside, if the _Dovah_ was so weak it could not defend itself the only one who might claim his soul was Vulindinok himself, as he did all souls in their time.

The Dragon flew higher still, scornful of the god-sent winds that tried to rend him, even Gods would fall to him eventually, he was the _Vul In Dinok_, and all feared him.

The Host roared and thrashed inside him as he had once upon a time. But the mortal would not escape so easily.

Vulindinok soared on warm air currents, his wings easily keeping him aloft despite the attempts of _Kaan_ to bring him down. Below him he saw two small towns of _Bron_, too small to bother his might with. To the west a great city of stone, alive with the flickers of life, like ants, that marked every nest of humans. South was a ring-city, swarming with the puny _Joore, _past the mountains. He felt another of the _Dovah_ there, this one seeing him and quailing away, knowing its place below him. To the East a smoking ruin, some packs of filthy _Fahliil_ scurrying about there. But to the North he felt a pull on his _Korpraan_, his Body. Vulindinok felt the Host roar still louder, throwing blasts of magic from inside the prison Vulindinok had built for him in the Dragon's long slumber. The Host had some rare thing there, an object of great value. The great _Dovah_ looked North further, he saw a city, the thatched roofs of the _Golz_-houses of the _Bron_, then a place of great power, a fortress on a spur of rock, the raging _Okaaz_, the Sea, all around it.

Vulindinok flew down on the wind to the fortress, seeing the face of a _Fahliil _in the Host's mind, he did not understand why the Host had so much _Rahgol_, rage, Vulindinok was taking him home, was not home where the heart rested?


	16. Vulindinok

_Lots of people have said how they thought the exploration of the Dragonborn aspect of Skyrim was good, that was actually one of the main things I wanted to sort out, Paarthurnax goes on and on about the 'will to dominate' or dragons (and therefore dragonborn) but after I made him into a suit of armour it never came up again, and that bugged me for a while, at least, until the next bandit attack which distracted me from the deep philosophical questions that Paarthurnax lectured on about._

* * *

"_Disperdere! Apstraho! Cremortium! Deleo Wreccum!"_

Harald threw spells at the barrier, for hours he raged against it, throwing every destructive spell he had at it, each more deadly and dark than the ones that came before. First _Bombarda _and_ Incendio_, the incantation and intent simple, then onto more complicated spells, spells to rend and rip, spells that would break apart the target into atoms, spells forgotten long ago, rediscover in long toil by Harald's readings.

"_Perforabit eam velum seorsum dividere!"_

His spells grew more complicated, their intent became abstract, fluid, he used precision, trying to pierce the barrier at its foundations rather than to batter it down with force.

"Nothing you do is helping." Called a light voice, rustling like dry paper, "I've told you a thousand times."

"_Avada Kedavra!"_ Harald screamed, the green light crackling out, the energy shield wobbling but not breaking.

"Nearly!" cawed a different voice, this one more snide and malicious, "Not yet though."

Harald gritted his teeth and attacked it with his hands, clawing at the barrier, swinging his fists at it. He only came away with bruised knuckles and torn fingernails.

"Because that was going to work." pointed out a third, sounding gruff and angry.

Harald whirled.

"Do you have a better suggestion?!" he roared at the speaker.

"Of course." Said a forth voice, the figure jumping up and hurrying forward.

Harald seethed. Whilst he worked at freeing them, these four lounged on conjured couches, thoughts flying between them in the glances of flitting eyes.

"Drink first." Said the fourth speaker, walking forward, handing him an embossed cup.

Harald sneered briefly at the badger motif, and downed the clear water inside the cup, slumping down on the fifth couch. Four pairs of bright green eyes started at him, peeking out from under messy black hair, one curious, another narrowed, a third bold, and the last wide.

"You suggestion?" Harald asked bitterly, shoving the chalice back at the speaker.

"The barrier is impenetrable." Said the one wearing a jewelled diadem.

"Force will not serve us." Said the one with the sword at his side.

"So we must use guile" Continued the one with an octagonal green amulet around his neck.

"And we must act as one." Ended the cupbearer.

Harald considered the words. He knew them to be true in his mind, yet in practice he could not accept it.

"Then what do you propose?" Harald asked finally, looking round the couches.

The four looked at each other. Each was a mirror of Harald at a younger age, though they were different. Four sides of his personality, each distinct and plucked from his subconscious, manifest after he had been trapped in this prison, his own mind the jail.

Slytherin spoke, not the historical founder, but the fragment of Harald when he had been Minister for Magic. Slytherin was dressed elegantly, in the long cloak, trimmed with fur, his other vestments equally rich. He steepled his fingers, glinting rings adorning them as he crossed one leg over the other in an aristocratic pose. "We," he said gesturing around him, "have in long discussion realised a plan."

There was a pause for effect, somewhat ruined by the fact that the four could communicate telepathically and also that Harald was irritated, disliking politicians in general, even if he enjoyed being one, and was therefore in no mood for theatrics.

"_He_ has the Hallows." Said Gryffindoor, a look of immense distaste contorting Harald's twelve year old features, the age he had drawn the sword that now hung as the personification's hip.

"_He _isthe Hallows." corrected Ravenclaw, Diadem balanced on a long mane of hair.

"As such." Continued Hufflepuff, a friendly looking, middle-aged man, "We cannot defeat the Dragon."

Harald's brow furrowed. He had not considered the Hallows, assuming, apparently wrongly, that he was still their bearer.

"Have you heard _his_ name?" asked Slytherin, hard eyes looking over his fingers.

"_Vul In Dinok." _Said Ravenclaw slowly, his voice reverberating with power.

"The names of the Dragons are composed of three Words of Power." Continued Slytherin. "Each has great significance to the Dragon itself, as well as denoting the particulars of the Dragon in question."

"_Al Du In, _for instance, the Nordic god of destruction and change. His name means '_Destroyer Devour Master_', because of his duty in the Nord pantheon as 'World Eater'" explained Ravenclaw further, "_Paar Thur Nax"_, '_Ambition Overlord Cruelty', _as fitting given his position at Alduin's right hand."

"Wing." Put in Hufflepuff absently, twirling the Cup by one of its handles.

"What?"

"Dragons have wings, not hands." Repeated Hufflepuff, the twirling stopping as he looked over at his 'brother'.

"Yes…at his right 'wing' then." Said a vexed Ravenclaw, Slytherin's smile crept up at the edge of his lips. "From what we have learned and analysed from the Greybeard we devoured, we have uncovered the meaning of the Usurper's name."

"_Dark Master Death" _put in Slytherin ominously.

"From that we realised that this Dragon, what we believe to be the innate and manifest _Dovah Sil_, the thing that makes us Dragonborn, has taken possession of the Hallows."

"A worrying thought by all accounts." Said Slytherin mildly.

"Gentlemen," Hufflepuff simmered, his hands out, "Let us not despair."

Gryffindoor scoffed, fondling the hilt of his sword. "As if we would."

Harald wondered inwardly when he had ever been like any one of these personalities. Then, looking from Gryffindoor's haughty chin, held upwards, to the nervous but open face of Hufflepuff, and realised that they were _all_ him. But facets of him, each one without the distinctions of the others. Hufflepuff simpered in a cowardly manner because he was without the backbone and spirit of Gryffindoor. Similarly, Slytherin was amoral and vindictive, manipulative to the extreme, far more than Harald himself had been, his Hufflepuff side reigning and yoking Slytherin.

"So how do we defeat him?" asked Harald, his rage having cooled somewhat.

"Simply put, we don't." said Slytherin, peering over his fingers.

"A point of some contention among us." Growled Gryffindoor, the sound coming from his throat seemingly out of place in the young body.

"Indeed." Slytherin smiled, the green of his eyes matching the green of the locket for brilliance. "Because Vulindinok is only another part of our self, a powerful and dangerous part to be sure, but an important one still, we can neither destroy nor defeat him."

"'To know thy enemy one must know thyself'" quoted Ravenclaw.

"Ah yes," pointed out Slytherin, "but in this case, thy enemy _is_ thyself."

"So?" asked Harald, despite himself his brain was automatically forming strategies and plans.

"We join with him." concluded Slytherin at last, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward in his seat.

"Like no hero has been offered that chance before by the villain." Replied Harald, having guessed the plan as Slytherin explained it.

"You consider yourself a hero?" asked Hufflepuff quietly, but was ignored by the others.

"It is not a case of morality, as I have said, _He_ is _Us_, we are synonymous." Hissed Slytherin, matching the sound of his namesake.

"Yet you have still to reach the point." Said Harald with equal vehemence.

Slytherin subsided. Ravenclaw took up the explanation, the personalities seemed to be split down the middle, the more logical ones bringing ideas forward and the two that followed their emotions, Hufflepuff and Gryffindoor staying mostly silent. "We have decided that we must work with this Vulindinok," said Ravenclaw, his voice colder but less sinister than Slytherin's. "To fight him would be like fighting our own right hand."

The facets made almost exactly the same gesture, each unconsciously raising and examining their own appendages. Harald's hand twitched but he put his other over it to stop him raising it.

"Let us assess out position for our colleague's benefit." Ravenclaw said, indicating Harald.

"We are trapped." Gryffindoor clasped and unclasped his sword's handle, hand almost spasming in his impatience to be free.

"The barrier is impenetrable." Continued Hufflepuff quietly.

"We have a century of knowledge of the Way of the Voice." Ravenclaw said, his diadem sparkling.

"What?" asked Harald quickly, he knew nothing of this.

"The knowledge transfer seems to work a little differently for us." Said Slytherin, his eyes looking down, "When Irgil began to pass information through parts of the _Dovah Sil _activated, Gryffindoor was guarding it."

"Actively?" asked Harald.

"We are the magical constructs of your subconscious, and therefore somewhat self-aware." Said Gyrffindoor, "I took exception at a dragon taking up residence in our basement, and I was suspicious, therefore the guarding."

"I was with him," said Ravenclaw, "The information flow was amazing."

"And almost fatal." Pointed out Hufflepuff.

"Hardly." Ravenclaw scorned back, "Regardless, the flow seemed to pass into the _Dovah Sil, _empowering it, I suspect this is the way the _Dovahkiin_ absorbs the souls of dragons, the energy and the knowledge pass into the _Dovah Sil._"

"But, as we have considered, the _Sil_ taking over the actual body is not a common occurrence." Said Slytherin, his eyes glinting like gimlets, even in the bright light of the shield they were imprisoned in. "It seems to us that Irgil gave more than anyone had ever done, perhaps an oversight on his part, or perhaps he was guided by some higher power, and the flow overwhelmed you."

"How can I be overwhelmed by something that is meant to be happening?" Harald asked.

"Think of it in terms of a computer." Explained Ravenclaw, once again taking charge of the conversation again, "Our 'buffer' was exceeded, firstly because we were devouring a human soul rather than a dragon's, and a human's is infinitely more complicated, and secondly because we devoured his entire soul, rather than what he actually wanted to give us. Because the buffer was exceeded, I shunted the flow over to _Dovah Sil_, as I theorised that that part of us was the one actually meant to absorb souls."

"So you did this?" asked Harald with some venom.

"_We_ did this, I _am_ you." Dismissed Ravenclaw, a hand waving airily, "Besides, would you rather your brain fried in its own juices as it heated up from the work it was trying to do?"

Harald said nothing to that.

"Though, yes, I am responsible."

"Regardless of blame." Said Slytherin eventually, "It was only discovered later that the _Sil_ had taken up residence in the part of our being that housed the soul, and because of this, it was set up in the same place as the Hallows are, and have their connection."

"Continuing with my computer analogy," Continued Ravenclaw with his computer analogy, "Each piece of magic, is to some degree, self-aware."

"I know how magical theory works." Growled Harald. "I invented it."

"So several subject's curriculum can attest." His Slytherin, his voice sounding slimy.

"We are explaining it only so that you might understand and possibly suggest something we cannot." Put in Hufflepuff.

"The whole," said Ravenclaw, pointing to Harald, "is greater than the sum of its parts." He indicated the seated speakers.

"I have long thought that the Dragon was growing," interrupted Gyffindoor, taking lead, "You fed it with emotion, with your use of the Voice, with the attachments you formed."

"A very Slytherin accusation to make." Replied Harald pointedly, refusing to be lectured by himself.

Slytherin inclined his head, "But true." He pointed out.

Gryffindoor shot him a dark look, "Each time you felt the Dragon roar in you, you acknowledged it, I watched it, trying to find out what it was doing, and when I spoke with Ravenclaw about it he brought a theory forward."

"The software, the _Dovah Sil_, was 'upgraded' by Akatosh," said Ravenclaw after the conversation as handed back to him, "But coming into contact with the Hallows it could no longer function."

"The Master of Death is connected with everything that lives, ever has lived, and ever will live." Explained Slytherin, his eyes looking just to the left of Harald's head, as if speaking to another, "this the _Dovah Sil_ could not devour as a dragon would a soul, there were simply too many souls, an infinity of creation."

"And somehow the Dragon took possession of the Hallows instead; the _Dovah Sil_ became self-aware, possibly influenced by the Hallows, possibly by you, and secreted them away from you, then, when I shunted the flow over to it, that opened the gate, and it escaped." Ravenclaw looked slightly flustered, his long fingers flattening creases in his long robes.

"I was guarding for external attack, but not one from within," Gryffindoor said bitterly, the voice of a defeated soldier.

"A mental bushwhack." Smiled Slytherin, taking amusement from his comrade's sorrow despite the gravity of the situation. "After that it was fairly quick, you were almost out, the shunt only just saved you, and Vulindinok killed another of the Greybeards after they attacked him."

"Which one?" inquired Harald.

"Gamall."

"Good." Harald said.

The only Greybeard he had had any respect for was Irgil himself, thinking the rest of them weak and idealistic, with only Irgil realising his need for the power and offering his knowledge.

"Interestingly their vow of silence and pacifism did not extend to certain situations, such as a dragon-possessed Wizard attacking them." Mused Slytherin casually.

"And then?"

"Another dragon, I suspect Paarthurnax came down from the top of the mountain, Vulindinok Shouted at him and wounded him severely, but afterward flew away." Continued Ravenclaw, "I had recovered by this time and was piggybacking his consciousness along with Gryffindoor, he seemed to detect us, but afterwards disregarded anything internal, perhaps he was boasting that we couldn't do anything against him, or perhaps he wanted to simply concentrate on the other things on his mind."

"Like?" asked Harald, he had awoken with Slytherin and Hufflepuff for company, the other two having somehow phased through the barrier afterwards, propelled at significant velocity, most likely thrown through just as he had been.

"Whilst these two were skulking," Put in Hufflepuff, overruling Gyffindoor's protests at the term, "I was feeling for Vulindinok's mind." Hufflepuff was historically the most adept at dealing with relationships, given the founder's ability to bring diverse people together. "He acknowledges your power, he is no common beast, but regardless of his separateness, Vulindinok still retains some ties with you."

"Just me?" asked Harald to the construct.

"We don't exist without you telling us to, we're just tendencies, feelings, the rip when Vulindinok was released created us as sentient beings." Explained Hufflepuff further, still fiddling with the Cup. "Anyway, just as you were affected by him, he was (and still is) by you."

Harald sat back, considering. What he had thought was the Dragon Blood raging in his veins had turned out to be a real dragon raging in his mind.

"At the moment we are winging toward Winterhold."

Harald started.

"Be at peace, we are in your mind, time is entirely subjective here." Assured Hufflepuff, patting Harald's hand. "The Shout you came across under Raven Rock is called 'Dragon Aspect', the first Word gives you the strength of the _Dovah, _the second, the armour of one and the third appears to provide the wings. It shouldn't, not from Irgil's knowledge, but when Shouted by a dragon it has most…"

"Interesting effects." Concluded Slytherin, his face contemplative. "A Dragon, an Actual Dragon, not just a Dragon's Soul, in the body of a human. A rare, if not unique event." He said.

"Interesting as the flight mechanics of the _Dov_ may be," diverted Hufflepuff, eager to continue his explanation but lacking the courage to take charge. There were several 'Yes get on with it' and other remarks of that sort from the others and Hufflepuff went on, "Vulindinok seems to think that destroying Alarendir, the Thalmor at the College, will please you and somehow pacify you."

"It might." Harald considered, actually enjoying the idea.

"You mustn't!" insisted Hufflepuff, "Then the Dragon will concentrate his power and take over your form all together! Vulindinok still feels the connection to you because of the connection, he knows about your feelings, he knows the rage you felt when the Thalmor was mentioned."

"So what do I do?" Harald asked in a flat voice, neither confirming nor denying Hufflepuff's statements.

"We join with him." Said Slytherin, coming back to his original point after their long ramblings.

"And how do you propose we do that?" asked Harald, having seen no way of even communicating with Vulindonik.

"Gryffindoor can bear a message; I doubt the Dragon will refuse the offer you will give him."

"What offer?" asked Harald, still not seeing the plan.

"Cede some of the functions to him. Give concessions. Vulindinok is a dragon, he cannot act for long in a human body, therefore, demand control back, but give over completely the control of the Hallows and of the _Dovah Sil._" Proposed Slytherin.

Harald saw the logic, loathe as he was yield anything to the Usurper, he saw that as the only course of action. But he worried about the Hallows, and asked as such.

"You have always despised them, but have been unable to trust that they would lie at rest." Pointed out Ravenclaw, ever the insightful one. "Give them to another; one who you know has close ties to you, and one who can wield them, was maybe _meant_ to wield them, one who's power you can call upon at will."

"One who has that power now!" shot back Harald, "Why would he give it up? You say he is uncomfortable in my body, what body would you offer him? I have no dragon corpses lying about!"

Ravenclaw opened his mouth several times, saying nothing, gulping like a fish on land.

Gryffindoor looked immensely thoughtful, he too trying to speak but finding no voice.

Hufflepuff said nothing.

"The Patronus."

Harald looked to Slytherin, the man was sitting further forward now, perched on his seat like some dark gargoyle. "We give him the Patronus!" he said excitedly, completely losing his earlier suave persona. "That is related to both dragons and soul magic, which will appease him supremely. We give him a route into the world; allow him to collect the souls he so apparently hungers for."

"What does the Dragon actually want?" asked Harald, not knowing how to bargain if he didn't know his opponents motivation.

"The _Dov's _Will to Dominate, combined with the Hallows. Vulindinok dominates Death; he wishes to destroy, to 'accelerate' the deaths of everything and everyone." Slytherin said.

"Impossible." Replied Harald.

"Tell him that."

"I will." Harald said, standing. He nodded to Gryffindoor, who also stood and walked, or floated out of the sphere, the barrier shimmering slightly as he passed through it.

Nothing happened for some time, then a loud but distorted Shout came from outside._"Vul In Dinok"_

Gryffindoor floated back in, retaking his seat. Harald raised an eyebrow. Gyrffindoor shrugged, the effectiveness of his call would be judged shortly.

Harald paced, floating back and forth in the air, his feet only moving because he assumed the floor had to be there because he was moving.

"_Bex Dwiirok Spaan" _was roared from outside, Harald looked up, the Shout had opened a gap in the barrier, Harald quickly went out, coming out on top of a mountain, a snow storm blasting all around him. He looked around, seeing nothing familiar and guessing that this was a mindscape, designed by Vulindinok.

Harald heard a great beating of the air; saw something rising up in the snow ahead of him. The wings drove away the gusts of snow, their pressure coming from them to sustain a dragon in flight pushing aside the wind, reducing it to the air it was. A dark shape emerged, flapping slowly toward him.

Vulindinok emerged, the Dark Master of Death, a huge black dragon, the head heavy and horned extensively, then a spine of spikes going down the neck to a long, whip-like tail, the end barbed and writhing like a snake. The Dragon was the traditional sort, with two legs at the back and two wings at the front, his wings braced out to catch his huge body before it impacted the ground. Vulindinok roared as he landed, new drifts of snow being sent up as dark claws gripped the ground, scoring lines into the stone.

"_Zu'u _Vulindinok_." _The Dragon introduced in a deep voice, bringing his head down to Harald's level, white knives of teeth bared and mouth slightly open.

"Harald Dovahkiin." Replied the Wizard.

Vulindinok laughed, a deep _rhuk rhuk_ in his throat. "You have the _Tinvaak,_ the Speech?" he asked, one silver eye bared at Harald, the pupil alone the size of his head.

"_Geh"_ replied Harald.

"_Pruzah! _Good! It would not be seemly for two _Dovah_ not to speak in the proper tongue." Vulindinok said, he reared back, head high and neck extended, reminding Harald unsettlingly of a viper about to strike. "The Elder speaks first! _Yol!_" The Dragon Shouted, Harald had bare enough time to shield his face before he was engulfed in a torrent of fire. As he was a spirit it did not burn him, but went through, causing him immense pain all the same.

Harald staggered back, the torrent ended, and he fell to a knee, gasping. He stayed like that while he recovered, all the time hearing the cruel laugher of the Dragon.

"_Yol!"_ he Shouted back, his flame smaller, but hotter, burning blue instead of the red and orange of the Dragon's.

Vulindinok seemed not to notice the flame, he shook his huge head briefly, then brought it quickly forward to Harald's level again, shaking off steam that was rising from his horns.

"_Nu_." Asked Vulindinok, "What do you want little _Joor_? What can you possibly offer me?_"_

'_Joor' – Mortal_, if Vulindinok _was_ the Hallows it was true, he was mortal again.

"I will never submit to you." Harald told the Dragon who looked on, the expression on his face unreadable. "Nor will you submit to me. We are the same."

Vulindinok stirred, his tail swinging from side to side just above the snow, the blizzard had slowed somewhat, and the flakes drifted down now, rather than being forced by high winds. The silver eyes fixed on Harald, waiting for him to continue.

"Though neither of us can defeat the other, we can hinder and harass, my _Dovah Sos_ influences me, as my emotions will influence you." Harald said, trying to gauge something from the Dragon.

"If you were _Mul, _strong, you would take control." Said Vulindinok slowly, his jaws moving as he spoke, teeth glittering as melted snow fogged across them. Each time he breathed the bellows in his chest put out strong gusts of hot air, melting the snow in the air and turning it to a might mist.

"The same applies to you." Replied Harald.

Vulindinok roared at him, wings suddenly unfurling and spreading around them like a black cloud. The Dragon reared back, letting loose a stream of flames in the air.

"Nothing can hinder me, I am Death!" raged Vulindinok.

"Except life." Harald pointed out.

The Dragon subsided, coming back down onto its wings, standing in the snow like a bat or some great pterodactyl.

"What do you mean little _Joor_?" he asked.

Harald smiled, the plan was working so far. "Death is unconscious, unfeeling, it is a mechanic of the universe." He explained, watching Vulindinok for sudden moves. "Life is the opposite, Life _wants_ to live. You will never be able to extinguish everything, _something_ will go one, even if that something is you. By your very actions you promote life."

"_Zu'u Dinok" _repeated Vulindinok, head shifting slightly to the side.

"No, besides, without Life there can be no Death, you would cease to exist." replied Harald, straying away from facts and into philosophy. "You are Change." He told the Dragon.

"Change." Vulindinok said, his head still turned, eyes not narrowed, but constricted somehow. "_Zuhrn_." He said at length.

Harald imagined that to be a foreign concept to a _Dovah_, a Dragon by its very nature was timeless, the concept of something being temporary was alien to them, the concept of change itself would be even more so.

"You are also _Vokul, _Evil." Said Harald.

Vulindinok stirred, shaking his head from side to side. "_Krosis. _No." he said, Harald feeling the vibrations of his voice through the soles of his feet. "If what you say is true I am Change, and Change cannot be evil."

"To be ignorant is to be evil." Argued back Harald, by now mainly making his words up from the top of his head, "To destroy is evil."

"Yet the _Bron_ make _Zahkrii._" Replied Vulindinok. "_Bron _make many weapons of war."

_Good point._ Thought Harald, but he had an answer for that as well "Is a sword inherently evil?" asked Harald in turn, "Are your claws?"

Vulindinok looked down at his talons, his long 'finger claw' scratching a set of characters in the snow. "_Wahl_," he said, reading the word "to create, you speak of tools."

"And to use a tool ignorantly, as an evil person would use a sword to slay the innocent, is evil." Harald continued.

"Yet to create _Zun_, weapons, is also evil." Replied Vulindinok, "_Zun_ are made to kill, made to destroy. He who works the _Heim_, the Forge, is evil because he propagates and enables evil."

"_Zun_ are made to kill." Agreed Harald. "But they are made to kill and fight evil, to destroy that which destroys before it may cause further _Aus_, suffering."

"Then you have proved me _Vahzah_, right, little _Joor_." Said the Dragon smugly, head rising slightly. "If I destroy evil before it creates greater suffering, I am in turn a force for good. Then, when there is no one left there will be no capacity for evil, and therefore there will only be Good."

Harald sighed; there was a twisted sort of logic to it. "If you destroy both Good and Evil, there can be neither, you will have destroyed solely, without consideration of that which is Good."

"Yet there will be no more _Vokul!" _said the Dragon in triumph.

"Without _Vokul, _without Evil, there is no Good, without the darkness, you cannot understand the light. You act not in the interest of the people, and with no consideration of their wishes." Harald said, and began to pace. Vulindinok's head followed him as he walked. Harald was fairly sure he wasn't going to be attacked now, he had remembered something about dragons, they _loved_ debate, given that they used their Voices in battle, each battle would actually be an opinionated discussion of titanic proportions.

"Would not the _Joore_ wish a world without _Vokul?_ Asked Vulindinok.

"Operative word being 'world' there, mortals covet Life because they have so little of it." Harald shot back, catching the Dragon with his own words.

"Perhaps." Replied Vulindinok, beating his wings a couple of times, but conceding the point. "You are _Motmahus_."

"Slippery?" Harald asked, translating in bemused interest.

"Illusive." Replied Vulindinok. "Yours words turn back on themselves, you are skilled in the _Tinvaak_."

Harald assumed he was being complimented, somewhat vainglorious given it was only a part of himself complimenting himself. Now that was confusing. He stopped his pacing, the Dragon seeming to give him time to form his next point. If eternity would teach you nothing it was patience.

"Returning from our departure from the road," Harald said slowly, abstract ideas flitting through his mind, "You can never win."

"_Zu'u Dinok_" repeated Vulindinok for a third time, this one simply matter-of-fact rather than an angry declaration.

"You are Master of Death." Corrected Harald, "You yourself show that even Death can be vanquished."

Vulindinok's tail slashed around, curling and uncurling repeatedly, he shifted his wings.

"Eventually you will die yourself, or be imprisoned, or banished, or otherwise prevented from destroying everything." Mused Harald. "Work with me, and you will still destroy, you will still _Change_ things, yet you will have an eternity to do it, and protection as long as I exist."

"_Pahlok! _I will not return to you." Roared Vulindinok suddenly, "I will not make _Zahrahmiik, _Sacrifice myself for you!"

Harald stepped back, he had not expected the Dragon to be adverse to the reintegration, he had considered it a facet of himself, like the Founder's personifications, just another aspect of himself, he did not know it would be a truly separate sentient.

"You need not, nor was that my proposition." Replied Harald after the Dragon had calmed down. "As you say, I am _Joor, _Mortal, and I cannot hold the Deathly Hallows. But you can."

Vulindinok looked up, his tail became still, the scaly plated neck extended, the snout lowering so that the _Dovah_ could look at him with both silvery eyes.

"I will give you dominion over my soul." Harald bargained, "I will control the body, though I will allow you your _Zul_ in deciding matters that concern us both."

"Am I never to fly again?" asked Vulindinok, his voice almost taking on a whining quality, "Is this your price? To keep me shackled to the _Gol_ forever?"

Harald thought that point fair, "You may fly, and I will release you, in two ways."

"Which are?" growled the Dragon, eyes peering at Harald over sharp nose.

"If I fight an enemy too great for me alone to face, I will use the Dragon Aspect Shout." Harald told him, "You may take over and destroy them, even devouring their soul if it pleases you."

"And the second?" asked Vulindinok, already rearing back, seeming to be less upset.

"The Patronus."

"You offer me the _Brendon Dovah?"_ asked Vulindinok.

"If you would call it that." Said Harald, "You will become my Patronus, and there you will have full autonomy, when I release it you will pass into the Wraithworld, able to destroy those souls that would do the same to our soul." Harald felt slightly uneasy about releasing a sympamcidal fire-lizard on his enemies, yet it seemed the only deal he could make to even gain a foothold in his own body.

Vulindinok was silent for a long time, struggling with his pride and with the need to be free of this stalemate.

"I agree." The Dragon spoke finally. "But I demand two souls to seal our pack, to prove your _Kaan_."

"What does one of the _Dov_ know of honour?" asked Harald, not thinking that they could have had any use for the concept.

Vulindinok growled and extended his wings, looming bat-like above Harald.

"Who's souls?" asked Harald quickly, holding his hands up in pacification.

"One _Joor_. One _Dov._" Replied Vulindinok.

"You don't whose soul in particular?" Asked Harald, thinking this a very good deal so far.

"Any soul," replied Vulindinok, "But I impose one condition."

"Name it."

"You defeat and devour these souls." Ordered Vulindinok, "As a _Dovah_ would, I will not ally with a _Joor_, it would not be fitting, only with the _Dovahkiin_."

"Acceptable." Said Harald, fully understanding where the condition came from, all the same, 'devouring' the souls would be unpleasant, if what he had unwittingly done to Irgil was any measure.

"Where do I find a _Dovah?"_ he asked finally, knowing of none he could defeat in reasonable safety, in fact, the only one who's location he knew was Paarthurnax, who, though injured, would be defended by at least three Greybeards, all Masters of the Voice.

"In the Fire-Mountain of the _Fahliil." _Replied Vulindinok, preparing for flight, wings slowly extending away from the body. "His name is _Ahbiilok_"

Harald absorbed that, Vulindinok was no doubt referring to the devastated Vvardenfell in Morrowind, that fit the description well enough. Hopefully Harald would be able to 'call' this Ahbiilok using the Thu'um.

"I need to be at Winterhold." He said, hoping the Dragon would not leave him in the snow somewhere miles from civilisation, and instead give him control of his body in a more reasonable manner_. _

"_Brom_!" laughed Vulindinok, the harsh laughing sound coming from his chest, beating his massive wings and slowly lifting off, flying away into the snowstorm.

The mountain faded away, winds tugging at the scenery and dissipating them like smoke. Harald began to fall, through layers of cloud, not knowing whether he was spirit or flesh. He was spat out of one suddenly, flying further down through the freezing air, tugging at the thin robes he had been given by the Greybeards for his life on High Hrothgar.

"Fantastic." He said dryly as he saw the ground rapidly coming to meet him.


	17. Flight

_Randumbdave: It's any mortal and any dragon, Vulindinok just had to suggest one._

_Separ: He's still got his immortality, Vulindinok's still in him, think of them as different sides of a coin._

_Zane Tribal Tyne Alexandros: see above, and yea, he would, Vulindinok *is* a dragon. They probably don't have much stand-up comedy_

_DarkArmor: I also enjoy protagonists doing things, that's why this is set 60ish years before the game. I'm fairly sure you'll enjoy the Great War then._

_Nix's Warden: I usually try and indicate the word immediately after its said, like having a character say it in draconic then in English/Nordic._

* * *

Harald flailed around briefly, but eventually calmed down and set himself about the business of re-orienting himself and finding equilibrium, angling his arms so that he might direct his fall more easily. He was unconcerned, he still had around a long way to fall, and even at terminal velocity he still had a couple of minutes to decide what to do. His brief panic being mainly to do with the transition into his body rather than the actual distance to the ground.

His right arm extended fully, as well as his right leg slightly made him spin. Harald went round far too fast the first time, so tried it again, this time more slowly. He had no idea where he was or how high, though he could make out a dark smudge off to the right, probably a city. To his left and quite far back, only just visible through the clouds was the Throat of the World.

"Point me!" he yelled over the wind and his left hand shot out, tracking toward a range of mountains which were presumably north of him, as the spell dictated. Vulindinok had told him Winterhold was north, so that was the way he had to make for.

Though, that being said, Winterhold was north of pretty much everything. Considering only a few islands like Solstheim were even further north on the continent.

Not wanting to break his promise to Siva (despite recent events) Harald considered the various methods of getting to Winterhold with reasonable expediency. His Wraithform was an option, but would do little in such high winds, since it was an internal Transfiguration that changed the form of the caster from solid to gaseous, with only the Wizard's will holding it together, strong air currents would dissipate it, and the form was therefore most effective nearer the ground, where the wind was broken by hills, trees and assorted other obstacles. Up here the jet stream, the fast, cold winds would quickly tear it apart, forcing him to regain his solid form.

He could release Vulindinok, but as that thought went through his head he felt said Dragon rear its head eagerly, and immediately discounted that as an option.

Guessing that he was near the troposphere, and therefore very high up, judging from the ice that seemed to have formed in his hair and on his robes, Harald cast several warming charms on himself, as well as a lightening one, letting himself descend more slowly, tossed about by the air.

After some time falling, by which time he passed through another cloud, wetting him thoroughly, he thought of a plan. First he removed the charm keeping him light, and then attempted to form several modified _Protego_ spells around his body. Instead of blocking spells these would block air, which then meant he had to cast a Bubblehead charm on himself, extending it to his eyes so he would be able to see without squinting through the air. The _Protego_s turned his body into an airplane, or rather, a flat arrowhead shape, allowing him to surf the air currents with reasonable accuracy, slowing the fall somewhat as there was a larger air surface to produce drag and lift.

Harald had briefly considered making a parachute, or possibly conjuring one, but discounted the idea, still wanting to get over the northern mountains, which his 'Magic Wing' enabled him to do. It was a thoroughly awkward spell to use, and required constant concentration to maintain, keeping his mind fixed on the idea that there was actually a real surface he was lying on. He could alter neither the direction nor the speed of the device, and instead cleaved through the thin air at a rate of knots which would have been most impressive to Otto Lilienthal, one of the pioneers of the sport of hang-gliding.

The Magnificent Flying Wizard thought that this would be quite a useful spell in future, if he ever found himself displaced in the upper atmosphere of Nirn, or indeed any other planet. Since he now had no broom it might be a good idea to research ways into making himself able to leap of tall structures and soar about the air. He missed the thermals that would give him lift, as there were few towns in Skyrim, only several large cities, the Hold capitals.

Harald briefly passed a surprised flock of birds some time after his musings, and eventually neared the mountains. Growing closer as he flew, he came to thicker air and dismissed the charm around his head. Now he fell less quickly, there being more air to have resistance to and he chanced a turn, aiming for the gap in between two great peaks, towing above their fellows, seeming to compete for majesty and magnificence in the wilds of Skyrim.

The gap approached. Below him were trees thick and green, covered in a light dressing of snow. Then, coming closer and closer, the jagged 'V' between the two mountains. Stone of granite and lime rushed past in a blur of grey and black, the gap neared. Harald loosened his muscles in preparation for a collision, hoping that he wouldn't crash but making sure anyway.

He was through! A vapour trail and a wash of snow kicked up behind his as he passed by, scant distance between him and the hard rock.

Harald sighed, letting out the breath he had been holding, then laughed loudly, feeling tiny flakes of snow hitting the back of his mouth. He thought he heard the wind laughing with him, perhaps Kyne was amused at his audacity, well, he was 'Dragonborn', what Dragon could not fly?

Beyond the two peaks a long valley opened out, Harald soared through it easily, his magical plane floating on the air currently. He began to experiment, shifting an arm here, a foot there, subtle moving his weight so that the wing he was astride shifted with him, dipping an floating in between the peaks of other mountains, Harald was just coming up to another, flying the closest to it yet, almost being able to reach out and touch the stones.

He suddenly felt an immense and unseen gust of wind that span him around, struggling to lie flat and reform the spell Harald almost hit another flight of birds. He regained his position over a glacier, the slow shelf of ice carving its way over the aeons through a valley filled with pines. Harald mumbled an apology to Kyne for growing too prideful in a medium not his own. His apology was apparently accepted as he was buoyed up by a strong wind over another shelf of rock and carried by it higher.

He glided the remainder of the distance quite easily, aiming himself after acquiring the position of the College with a 'Point Me' spell, and no longer trying any fancy manoeuvres. His glider was very crude, but Harald thought it an excellent idea and had always enjoyed flying, so he would certainly continue the practice, no doubt more to impress people than out of actual necessity, but his point still stood.

As the Kyne-granted wind diminished Harald swooped over another mountain peak, clearing this one easily. Now just in front of him was The College, just before it however was the massive statue to Azura, with a tiny dark figure at its base, no doubt the priestess he'd met months ago.

She apparently saw him, and her hands began to glow with a spell that would probably be used to try and knock him out of the sky. She probably thought he was some kind of huge demented bird. Harald didn't blame her, his robes were fluttering out behind his extended arms like wings, but he could have her shooting at him, so he took evasive action, pulling his arms in and rolling on the wind, flipping and sliding in the air until Ienith's hands stopped glowing.

Harald laughed again as he passed within inches of Azura's hand, his robes almost catching on the upheld crescent moon, Ienith's uplifted face under him, mouth open in wonder.

But Harald had no time for that, he was coming in for a landing, and he saw the circular curtain walls of the College of Winterhold stretching out under him. There seemed to be a small crowd of people below on the balconies, he made out the pale blue robes of apprentices, the green of a more senior member, and several purple or darker blue of the professors, as well as the complicated silvery robes of the Arch-Mage. The crowd backed up, giving him a tiny landing pad. Harald shrugged his shoulders again and readied himself, coming with incredible speed over the harbour and cliffs, then less than a second later he was at the wall. Harald threw his arms back, the _Protego_ catching the wind, slowing him to almost a standstill, but so fast had he been going he was in danger of splattering on the stonework.

Harald assumed his Wraithform, his eyes closing on the world and everything turning grey, there being spikes of colour and shapes of many hues he had not seen with his normal eyes, the gas slammed into a corner where the battlements joined the floor at the edge of his landing area, he felt his form shatter, dissipating into the wind.

But Harald willed it back together, into a column, floating over the snow brushed floor, returning to the material world in a smoke wreathed form, stepping out of it onto one of the embossed seals in the floor showing a many pointed star.

He took in the astonished gasps well, despite his windblown hair and tattered robes he was ever one for theatrics.

Then something small and red impacted him from the side, tightening around his arms at his sides. He saw Siva's red hair pressed into his shoulder. Harald extracted one arm and gently stroked her back, feeling slightly bad about scaring her.

"Yes." He smiled for the benefit of the others standing round, "I can fly."


	18. Establishing the Hierarchy

_DarkArmor: Not my intention, but upon rereading the last chapter I totally see you point, glad you liked it_

_Whitedorumon: Thanks, have fun_

_Ghost Reader1996: For the benefit of everyone else, I thought I'd re answer your question here: Dunlain is indeed the Auger of Dunlain, and I thought I'd include him, in the game it's just 'hey! Go see that dude we have living in our basement'._

_Sg: Yea, that can be annoying in fics, but note in this one that he's only done it once to a whole town, rather than giving money to his friends, also consider he was standing next to a prince at the time, so might have been trying to impress said royalty. Sub point- you really cant complain about sustainability when there's a spell that turns iron into gold :P_

_Mike: Sorry you didn't like it, but the 'multiple personalities thing won't be popping up in the future, or probably ever. Vulindinok will though._

* * *

"Go tell Haestan to have my ship ready to sail as soon as he can." Harald ordered, waving a hand at Savos who had been pestering him for the last few minutes about his method of arrival.

Savos stopped mid-sentence, closed his open mouth, regarded Harald carefully, as if assessing how far he could push him, then gave it up and walked off toward a door leading to a stair downwards.

Harald leant against the wall, his arm still trapped by Siva clinging onto it; Harald took no exception to this, and continued to stroke her hair which had fallen free of a hood. A delegation approached from the crowd, who had been keeping back, discussing some great matter between them, raised voices being heard several times.

"You arrival was most unexpected." Said the Arch-Mage, whose name Harald could still not recollect, though he had a feeling it began with an 'L'.

"It was?" asked Harald in amused confusion, indicating Siva with his free hand, "I informed the Arens."

A mage in green robes laughed, he had slightly swarthy skin and a dark moustache.

"We haven't been introduced. Would you be Dunlain?" Harald asked the Breton.

The mage nodded, extending his hand to shake, Harald did so.

"Some trick." Dunlain complimented.

"Indeed, you might be able to help with the explanation." Harald replied, seeing Dunlain's eyebrows rise slightly.

"Ah, well, I would also like to know." Continued the Arch-Mage, his silvery robes shimmering in the sun's light streaming down through the cloud layer.

"Cast a Ward." Harald instructed, looking at the Breton. He remembered Savos' tirade against the mage's placement of the Ward spell in the school of Restoration. Harald frankly agreed with him, Restoration 'restored', it did not 'alter', as the Ward was designed to do.

Dunlain cast the spell without hesitation, one hand held out with fingers splayed, supporting an oval blue shield, clear and shimmering slightly like a heat haze in the desert.

Harald casually threw a firebolt toward it, the spell splashing against the shield, being absorbed without consequence, Dunlain showing no noticeable strain at holding the Ward. Harald nodded at him and Dunlain released the spell.

"Wards stop spells." stated Harald to the delegation, one of the blue robed mages behind the first two actually taking out a roll of parchment and writing feverishly on his friend's shoulder for future reference.

The Arch-Mage and Dunlain nodded immediately, showing they understood this rather simple concept.

"What if you modified the nature of the barrier?" Harald asked, having no idea if Aetherian magic could do such a thing. "What if instead of magic the Ward stopped air?" he asked.

Dunlain seemed to see the concept. The Arch-Mage meanwhile was looking quizzical.

"And you have spells to Burden an enemy do you not?" asked Harald for a second time, having just remembered a treatise he had read documenting a period of research at the Arcane University in the Imperial City regarding altering an opponent's mass to slow them in a fight.

"You propose to lighten yourself and 'float' on this Ward?" shouted one of the purple robes in a cultured voice, most likely of Imperial stock.

"Who might you be?" asked Harald politely, nodding at the mage's assumption.

"Pondus Uariat, Professor of Alteration, recently of the Synod." Replied the Imperial, confirming Harald's suspicions.

"Pleased to meet you." Replied Harald, shaking his hand, "and yes, a man cannot fly, because he is to heavy, have you ever seen the insides of a bird's bones?" he asked, they shook their heads, looking confused by the question, "A bird's bones are honeycombed, as strong as a man's but incredibly light compared to his, when I lighten myself the wind has far less of a trouble carrying me."

Dunlain turned to his compatriot. "Could it be done? I might be able to create this 'Air Ward' as Harald calls it, but I have no great grasp of Burden spells."

"How does one control one's direction?" asked the Arch-Mage. "I assume that this is not true flight, but a glide?"

"Somewhat." Replied Harald, "Hot air rises, correct?" he looked around for confirmation, seeing nods he continued, "If you're over a city you can use the thermals to circle up."

"Like an eagle!" shouted one of the apprentices from the back.

Harald nodded, "The first step of the spell is to get somewhere high with an immediate drop, I used the Throat of the World." A small lie on his part, but easier than telling the truth in this circumstance. There were several significant glances to his robes at that from the Nords that knew the significance of the place. "Then on the first descent you must reduce your weight to create the Ward, then shifting your body controls the flight."

"You come by way of the Greybeards then?" asked the Arch-Mage, taking Harald's unencumbered arm and leading him away while the others broke into a heated discussion on 'Veloth's Law', no doubt some complicated magical theory.

"I did, however we had a disagreement of sorts." Replied Harald, not particularity wanting to explain it. He changed the subject: "I hear you have a guest."

"Dunlain?" asked the Arch-Mage, "a most intelligent man if ever I met one, I suspect he will replace Terilon as our Professor of Restoration within a few months, he has a grasp of the subject I've seldom seen before in a Man, perhaps a few Mer though.

"And on the subject of Mer," prompted Harald, "I hear you have another visitor."

"My advisor, Alarendir of Firsthold, sent from their new Crystal Tower facility on Alinor."

"The Crystal Tower is being rebuilt?" asked Harald in some amazement, knowing the massive structure had been destroyed in the Oblivion Crisis more than a century ago.

"No, that still lies in ruins." Replied a voice from the side, and stepping out of the shadows a hooded Altmer emerged. He threw back his hood, exposing an aristocratic face, high brow and pointed jaw. "The new facility is something in the manner of your own College." He said, "a place for the High Elves to learn the mysteries of magic."

Harald raised an eyebrow, "Only the High Elves?" he asked pointedly.

Alarendir ignored him, the Thalmor had attempted to cover up their genocidal pogroms, but through the efforts of some Altmer political refugees the word had gotten out.

The Thalmor began to turn away. Harald looked at the Arch-Mage. "Would you be adverse to him tripping off the cliff?" he asked quietly.

"Not particularly," said the old man giving a little chuckle, "Though if we were implicated in it there could be consequences." Then he looked at Harald who was smiling sinisterly, "Wait, you're serious."

"No! Certainly not!" lied the Wizard loudly, "I was merely jesting."

Harald wandered off down the stairs, passing floating magelights that the College used to illuminate the stone corridors, they walked out the main doors passing a statue of some long dead mage, hands out in benediction. During their walk across the bridge Harald finally decided on the mortal soul he would give Vulindinok. The _Dovah_ stirred in him as he considered, seeming to approve of his choice. Harald perhaps had no definite reason to kill the Thalmor, but he disliked their policies and felt vaguely offended at the popular belief on the Summerset Isles that the Thalmor were the ones responsible for saving Tamriel from the Oblivion Crisis, when in fact it had been Martin Septim, a man Harald felt a resonance with given that they were both Dragonborn.

"Will you actually kill him?" asked Siva, now having stopped clutching his whole arm and now only holding his hand.

Harald smiled. "Well certainly," he said, "I have to demonstrate my own 'skill in destructive magics' do I not?" he teased, looking down at her.

Siva said nothing and they walked through the town to a tavern, there Harald left her in charge of Savos, who was waiting for word of a message he had sent to Haestan, and Harald jogged to his house to change out of the robes. He pulled them quickly off and put on a set of lighter armour, heavy sheets of metal would be no protection to a dragon's breath, but a shield would, so he took a large one of iron reinforced with bands of metal, it was heavy, but not overly so. His amour was leather and fur overlaid with studs of metal to turn a sword, and a small shoulder guard on the left. His boots were his normal ones made from warm fur with metal shin guards. Finally Harald belted on the Haafingar Blade but did not take a helmet, as knew it would only slow him. He could have simply enchanted his normal clothes, but he wanted something more solid in case the spells failed. He did however, slightly reinforce his armour with magic, and then walked out and toward the tavern.

The problem with making items unbreakable, or using other strengthening spells, was that they altered the properties of the item itself. For instance, an Unbreakable enchantment, would make the thing in question ridged and unbending, so was useless on cloth, but excellent on substances already solid, like stone or metal. Otherwise, he was able to place a small Warding on the shield, to let magical attacks slide off it, rather than melting the metal on his arm, as well as sharpening his sword.

Harald pushed open the door to the tavern, finding it odd that this one had no name, otherwise it was normal in all respects, surprisingly large actually, and significantly more prosperous looking than when Harald had left two months ago.

"Harald!" he heard called from across the room, he looked over, seeing Haestan beckoning him over to a table. He walked over and sat down, taking a sip from a mug someone had ordered him.

The mead was cold and minty, far better than the rest of the stuff he had been drinking, and he took another few gulps. Haestan took his horn and poured some mead from it into Harald's mug. Harald nodded his thanks.

"Made me quite popular this has." Said Haestan, smiling at the magic drinking horn Harald had gifted him with.

Harald smiled again, happy to be back with his steersman, having not seen him in some time. They sat in relative silence for a few minutes, Harald making inquiries to the others about their doings in a casual manner, making a few remarks about Haestan's sabbatical with his female companion in Dawnstar. Haestan seemed quite embarrassed, and Harald raised his eyebrows to learn that the woman was in fact the Jarl of Dawnstar's daughter. Harald felt slightly guilty as he wondered if or when Haestan married this woman what kind of extended influence he would have in the Pale.

"Enough about her," insisted Haestan, taking a swig, "What's the word?" he asked, looking at Harald over his horn. "Savos came and told me to get the _Frydraca_ ready to sail, he didn't say why.

Harald grinned, "We," he said slowly, "are going dragon hunting."

The significant pause was ruined by Savos simultaneously inhaling and snorting his drink, having to be hit on the back by his sister.

"W-What?!" the Dunmer eventually spluttered.

"You heard me." Harald replied back, leaning back contentedly in his chair.

"The dragons are gone." Said Haestan steadily, and also reluctantly, knowing that Harald would never propose such a measure without a plan.

"I have acquired knowledge of one." Replied Harald enigmatically.

"From the Greybeards?" asked Savos, moping his now damp robes with a cloth, "Would this be to do with your…" he trailed off, not wanting to reveal that Harald was Dragonborn.

"In a manner of speaking." Said Harald, after all, his unwitting devouring of Irgil had forced the transition to Vulindinok, and Vulindinok had given him the whereabouts of Ahbiilok.

"And you intend to kill this dragon?" Haestan asked.

"No I intend to teach it to juggle." Replied Harald sarcastically.

Haestan whistled lowly, and then took a prodigious gulp of his mead. "Well I'll go with you." He said at length, "By Shor, half the men I know would go just to _see_ a dragon, let alone resurrect the tradition of hunting one!"

"Where is it?" asked Siva, her hand lying close to Harald's on the table top.

"Vvardendell"

Siva's hand gave a slight tremor and he reached over and squeezed it, reassuring her, he knew she would follow him, but didn't enjoy the idea of forcing her back to her home, smoking ruin that it now was.

Savos' eyes gave a slight flinch, but he mastered himself. Haestan only considered the voyage, "Around two weeks to get there," he said, "then perhaps a few days to find a landing place. Where are you thinking of landing?"

"Gnisis." Replied Harald, having seen maps detailing the devastation of Morrowind this seemed like the most easily accessible area.

"What about this dragon of yours?" Haestan asked. "Where does it lair?"

"That won't matter." Harald assured him, hoping he could utilise the same 'Call' shout that had been used on Vulindinok.

"Only _Frydraca?" _asked Haestan, looking at the ceiling and down at his hands periodically. He was unreasonably proud of his status as a lettered man.

"I'm slaying the dragon." Replied Harald, "We don't need a large crew."

Haestan shrugged at the logic, and asked a few more questions, considering which crew to take with them, Harald hadn't had much conversation with them, so let his steersman take charge of that, but eventually when they couldn't think of anything else Harald simply stood up.

"I'm going Dragon Hunting for two months," he shouted across the bar, "Who wants to come?"

There was a dead silence. A few people gave nervous chuckles in the room but most simply stared in various stages of doubtful surprise.

"No joke?" asked one man, Harald thought he recognised him but couldn't be sure.

"No joke." Harald confirmed.

The anonymous man looked around his table, then after collecting a few nods, raised his drink. "Aye Atmoran, I'll go with." Various others made similar gestures, even the barman, Harald recognised many from his Solstheim adventure, and they no doubt wanted to come along because of his incredible success in that venture. Harald told them to go around and ask if anyone else wanted to visit Morrowind, and afterwards he set off toward the College, slipping out the back of the pub and across toward the Jarl's Longhall.

The inside was mainly unchanged, however Harald noticed several new tapestries, one in particular looking very new, showing a longship fighting a black corsair, heroic looking Nords leaping aboard as then two grappled.

"My Jarl." Harald called, sighting Kjark sitting in his customary throne.

"Thane Harald." Replied the Jarl, his ebony battleaxe propped against the side of his chair.

"I'm going Dragon Hunting," announced Harald, hearing gasps from the courtiers, "I was wondering if you wanted to come along?"

Kjark looked at him intensely, hand propped just below his chin. "Where in Shor's name have you been?" he roared, jumping up and clapping Harald on the shoulder, smiling under his great beard.

Harald laughed, enjoying the Jarl's enthusiasm, "High Hrothgar." He replied.

"The Greybeards." Whispered Kjark, and made a superstitious sign, clutching at his neck where he too probably wore and amulet of Talos. "You learnt the Way of the Voice?" he asked, still speaking lowly as if someone was listening in.

Harald glanced around, seeing an armoured man standing at the side of the Jarl's throne, looking interested but stern at the proceedings. "Housecarl!" he called over to the man, "Stand ready!"

The Housecarl immediately raised his shield in a well-practiced move, drawing an axe from his side at the same time in under a second.

Kjark stepped back wisely, apparently trusting Harald not to do anything unpleasant to the man.

"_Fus!"_ Harald shouted when the Housecarl was ready, toning the Shout down so it only staggered the bodyguard.

"The Voice!" said a cry from behind him, followed quickly by several more exclamations of the same sort. Harald hoped that eventually people would get used to it and stop being so amazed around him.

Kjark clapped him on the shoulder again, "Amazing, now, my friend, come sit, you there, pull up a chair for the Thane! There you go, now, tell me about your doings since you left us."

The Jarl sat back down, Harald turning to find a small man was holding a large chair with some difficulty behind him, he took the chair and did as Kjark bade him, sitting to the side of the Jarl's throne, seat facing slightly toward Kjark.

"The voyage to Solitude was uneventful." He began, "we encountered no trouble, only meeting a slight storm off the coast of the Pale around halfway there, the sale of the ebony was also fairly uneventful. Although now I've been made Thane of another Hold." He said, drawing his sword slightly so 'Haafingar' was visible. Then we-"

"Someone go order a blade for the Thane!" bellowed Kjark, Harald though he may have had some memory issues, given he interrupted guests to issue orders, though it was an amusing trait to be sure.

"And then?" asked Kjark, turning back to Harald after sending a courtier scurrying.

"I gave your greetings to Istlod," said Harald, "As well as the High King." He had done nothing of the sort but would have if he had remembered at the time.

"How is the King?" Kjark said, leaning forward further in his seat, "I fostered in Solitude."

"He seems well, in hale and hearty form." Replied Harald, not having made a particularly close inspection of the man.

"Good, good."

"Indeed," continued Harald, "Then we made for Whiterun, where I joined the Companions."

Kjark made an approving noise and Harald wondered how much more respect and adulation being part of that organisation would bring him.

"We stayed there around a week, then I made for High Hrothgar, sending the Arens back to the College. The climb was difficult and cold and I met a bear, but otherwise trifling." Harald said, "I stayed with the Greybeards for two months but I was unable to continue further till I passed my Trial." He explained to a gathering audience, "The Way of the Voice requires practice, and what better practice than against a Dragon? The ancient enemies of the Nords?" he asked, Winterhold was a fairly backwater town so no one would be able to correct him on the actual function of the Way of the Voice.

"And you know where such a beast is?" asked Kjark eagerly.

"In Morrowind," said Harald back, "I am making an expedition there in a few days." He said.

Kjark sat back, "I have mind to come with you."

"You would be welcome to do so." Replied Harald, looking forward to the Jarl's presence.

Kjark sat for a few seconds, eyebrows slightly together and brow wrinkling, "No, no, I cannot, as many have said, a Jarl cannot go gallivanting about on private endeavours." He looked around the crowd, "But, you may take my son, Sigurd! Step forward!"

Harald thought it hilariously ironic to take a Sigurd to kill a dragon, pity the dragon wasn't called Fafnir though. He enjoyed Wagner, and began to hum it under his breath as Kjark made the arrangements for Sigurd to report to Haestan and other small matters.

"You did well by Winterhold you know."

"What?" asked Harald, having not been paying much attention to surrounding events, turning to the Housecarl he had Shouted at before.

"Winterhold has seen nothing but good fortune since you arrived months ago." Said the Housecarl, leaning on the back of Harald's chair. "and we've never, not in half a thousand years, seen as much coin as you brought from Solstheim, and you haven't collected your own share yet, to hear it told from Haestan."

"He exaggerates." Said Harald, "I got some of my own share already, a rather nice sword for instance."

"Aye, well perhaps he does, but to hear it from the Jarl," the man nodded toward Kjark, "If he hadn't sons he'd make you Jarl after him."

Harald laughed, "How are you with the sword?" he asked, reaching into his pouch.

"A Housecarl must be skilled with all weapons in protection of their Jarl."

"A good reply." Approved Harald, "Words for a sword then, may you long defend him." He passed one of the ebony swords to the man, he really did have far too many weapons, the Voice, his swords, two of which had not even been completed yet, Wizarding and Aetherian magic, and most dangerously, his mind, a thing that whirled and dreamed behind his eyes.

Being Jarl could certainly be very useful, Harald had considered deposing someone, Nordic custom dictated that if one man won a ceremonial duel with another he would take the man's position. The practice stemmed from the Companions, when some of the first Jarls were unfair rulers and had to be challenged in an honourable fashion.

But Harald liked Kjark, and for that reason would never challenge the man, or his sons. Perhaps he would come across some reasonably unpopular Jarl in the future and take his city. On the other hand, Saarthal was once a city, Harald planned to make it so again. On that thought he drew Kjark back to his throne and posed the question.

"My Jarl." He said serious, seeing Kjark's face grow more grave. "I have great plans for the future, and must look to the days after tomorrow, after this year and the next even, and as such I require a base."

"And Winterhold is not as it once was." Said Kjark sadly, his eyes clouding over, perhaps remembering the thriving city he once ruled over. "You are leaving us."

"I will leave Winterhold, but not the Hold itself." Assured Harald, "but I require your permission to take the city I wish. The lands here are yours by right, and I would not have conflict between us."

Kjark nodded, "I know you for an honourable man." He said, nodding, "but I know of no cities in the Hold, save this one, where are you talking about?" he asked.

Harald paused for effect; "Saarthal."

Kjark frowned, "All I know of that place is it was the first in Skyrim, the first Atmoran city that is."

"Appropriate given the Thane's origins." Said Sigurd, who had been listening in.

"I thought so as well." Replied Harald, nodding in agreement, "All those in the Hold would be welcome there, in times of war and peace, for shelter and safety."

"What war would you prepare for?" asked the Housecarl.

"The next one." Said Harald simply.

"With who?"

"The Aldmeri Dominion." Guessed Sigurd.

"Well done." Congratulated Harald, wondering if anyone else had been following international politics lately.

"As I said father." Continued Sigurd, "The Thane thinks it as well."

Kjark was swayed, and gave permission for Harald to invest Saarthal, he even allowed Harald autonomy within the city and surrounding lands, up to certain boundaries to be decided later. Harald thought that Kjark was perhaps more intelligent than he had previously suspected, the Jarl knew which way the wind was blowing. Eventually they finished the discussion

Having completed his errands in Winterhold Harald left the hall and walked across the snowy bridge to the College of Winterhold. Noting the crumbled nature of the span, he magically repaired it as he went along, not wanting to one day slip off and plummet to his death.

"Look out below!" came a shout, and Harald looked up, then ducked as a mage swooped past, his robes streaming out behind him, a long rope around his waist. Above the tethered mage were several others standing at a high window, paying the rope out.

If nothing, the Winterhold mages were quick.

As Harald watched he concluded that Dunlain and Uariat had not yet worked out his 'Magic Wing', they did however seem to have the lightening spell covered. Good for them.

Harald then sought out the Professor of Conjuration at the College, taking directions from a passing scribe, sleeves stained with dark ink or some less reputable substance, Harald found the man in the Arcanaeum. It seemed they had still not replaced the librarian yet, so Harald and the Professor were alone.

"Good Day!" he called as he entered.

"Harald of Atmora?" the Professor asked after Harald stopped, Harald nodded, "I am Quaesor Arulam, Master Conjurer, I don't suppose you happen to know any arcane secrets relating to my art?" He asked, smiling.

"The very thing I was coming to speak with you about actually." Replied Harald, his plan coming together neatly.

"What did you need my man?" Arulam asked jovially.

"Well," said Harald, injecting charm into his voice, "I have never conjured a Daedra, and wanted to attempt to do so."

"You have no prejudice against the art?" asked Arulam, "If I may be excused for saying so, many of the Nords seem to distain the art."

_Obviously_, thought Harald, here was another inherently dishonest way of fighting, summoning demons to do it for you. However, Harald understood that he had to make allowances for the physically challenged Imperials and Bretons.

"I do not." He lied.

"Well then," said Arulam, abandoning his search for whichever book he was looking for, "What do you know of it already."

"Nothing really, I know that Daedra come from Oblivion." Replied Harald, settling into a chair, "However I can do this." He conjured a flock of small yellow birds that went twittering around the room.

Arulam was stunned. "Fascinating." He muttered, "How do you do it? These are clearly not Daedra, and if they are, they were incredibly well disguised." He said, looking suspiciously up at the birds for some sign of them drawing great flaming swords and trying to burn the College down.

"I simply will them into existence." Replied Harald, not being able to offer a better description, as one practiced spells got progressively easier to preform.

Arulam shook his head to clear it, and then smacked his forehead violently with an open palm, as if to jog his thoughts back into some order. "What I know of Conjuration dictates that…hmm, yes, well," the mage paused in thought. "One could say that at its base level Conjuration is the practice of making and breaking links in one's mind. Between Mundus and Oblivion lies the Aetherian Veil, from where one derives Magicka."

Harald particularly despised that term, it seemed to grate on him, and to be unnecessarily complicated, why not something like 'Mana' which was shorted and more pleasant to the ear. Harald assumed that it was called 'Magicka' because whoever had discovered it was an Imperial, and thus spoke the awkward sort of Latin analogue that was used in most intellectual and technical discussions in Cyrodiil.

"It is said that the Psijics can commune with each other over great distances using the art, however I doubt this." Scoffed Arulam, Harald taking note of this potentially incredibly useful system and deciding to visit the Psijic Order at some point, if he could find them, apparently they had disappeared some time ago. "To the novice, Conjuration consists of opening a way in the Veil, and summoning through a Daedra." Continued the Professor, "However, one must then Bind the Daedra to their will, making it subservient."

"And what varieties of Daedra can one Bind?" asked Harald.

"It depends on the intent of the Conjurer." Replied Arulam, "And the Binding applied. For instance, if I cast a spell of Bound Sword, I will form the spirit into a weapon, but if I wished to summon a more powerful spirit, for instance a Dremora, the portal would have to be larger to accommodate a spirit of that power."

"Might I try it now?" asked Harald, having gleaned some knowledge from the use of Legilimency whilst looking at Arulam's eyes.

Arulam waved a hand in permission, but was obviously not anticipating the wickedly curved and spiked sword that materialised in Harald's hand. Harald waved it about, admiring the way it seemed to be spectral, but actually looked quite sharp. It weighed nothing, and the only appreciable feeling Harald got from it was that of restlessness from the imprisoned Daedra it was formed from.

"An excellent first attempt, though you were lucky only a feeble spirit came through, if something as large as Daedroth materialised we should have had quite a battle on our hands." Said the Professor.

"Would that be likely?" asked Harald, assuming a 'Daedroth' was a particularly formidable demon.

"Not unless you were foolish enough to create a portal large enough to Call such a beast." Replied Arulam, waving a hand at the seemingly ridiculous question.

"I see."

Harald asked Arulam several more questions regarding the finer details of Conjuration, and received a large amount of useful knowledge, successfully summoning atronachs of Fire, Frost and Shock, and binding them to his will. Harald thought it a most profitable session, and also took several books on the subject, particularly on Necromancy, a subject which he wanted to be eminently prepared against if and when he encountered a practitioner of the School.

Conjuration particularly interested him because it would enable him to summon virtually invincible soldiers, whenever they died he could just summon them again. More importantly, Winterhold was now a small town, and his 'army' was the understrength crews of his dromonds. If he summon individual Daedra, then bound each in sequence to his will, he would easily have a reasonably sized force or exceptionally powerful individuals. He would still fight, but despite his power, Harald could still not be in two places at once, and would benefit immensely from supporting soldiers.

After his thirst for knowledge was sated, Harald arranged part of a separate plan. He found the Thalmor's room, unlocked and searched it for important documents; he found several in what was certainly a cipher, and stole them, thinking the Blades might be able to unlock the secrets when he visited there. After that he layered every available space with large Runes, one of the more interesting branches of magic Savos had been teaching him, they were effectively magical 'mines' activated on touch.

Preparations set in Alarendir's room, Harald threw the Cloak over himself and settled down for a long wait. He amused himself in the hours with sorting through all the grand plans he had made recently, many of which revolved around Ahbiilok. Since he was going to kill a dragon, Harald wondered if he might skin it, or possibly make a weapon put of its bones. It appealed to him that the Dragonborn should not only wield the Voice of a _Dovah, _but also the natural weapons of one, like the claws and teeth. As well as being protected by the skin of the virtually every case he had heard of, dragonslayings historical and legendary, dubious and documented, the dragon's hide was a powerful and protective barrier, its scales turning aside swords and spells with ease. Alduin, arguably the most famous of real dragons, rather than the Divine Akatosh, had scales like 'sharpened scythes' according to one song. Harald was even considering making a spell from the bones of the beast. Many of the 'Mage Armour' spells required a regent to base off, the lowest level was 'Oakflesh', and the highest 'Ebonyflesh', which gave the caster's skin the consistency and hardness of the two regents respectively. Dragonbone was certainly harder than ebony, and would make a mighty ward indeed.

Harald's patience was eventually rewarded when the door to the room opened. Not daring to move, even under the Cloak for fear of making a noise, Harald waited till Alarendir had removed his outer robe, a combination of a long coat and hood, and several of his rings and had just sat down to write at his table. Harald then allowed the Cloak to vanish, but stayed slouched in his chair, hoping the Thalmor might reveal something more. Or, perhaps he might uncover some other magical artefact he was wearing. It would not do for Alarendir to survive his fiery death because he happened to be wearing a particular amulet.

Very slowly, Harald drew out the documents he had already stolen, and started pretending to read them, a thoughtful expression on his face. After a few seconds of this, Harald gave the paper a rustle. Alarendir jumped up and span around, knocking his chair backward and upsetting various objects on the table. The Thalmor quickly cast a spell, a blue shimmer settling over his skin. He then drew a small belt knife and summoned a Shock spell to his other hand.

"Speak!" he demanded, "Who are you?"

Harald replaced the paper back in his pouch. "I don't suppose you'd be kind enough to tell me the cipher to your confidential documents would you?" he asked, staring intently into the Altmer's eyes.

"Ah." Said Alarendir, "the Atmoran," he sneered, "you'll steal no more reports when you're dead!" he said, but made no hostile move.

"Disappointing." Replied Harald, "Sometimes when you ask someone something they instinctively think of the think you're asking them about, thus giving away the secret they were trying to protect. I commend you, you have a disciplined mind."

"You would try and read my mind? As if a barbarian could accomplish a feat only the Thalmor have ever been able to!" scoffed Alarendir, moving toward the door to block it.

"Fifty five, fifty six." Counted Harald absently.

"What are you saying?!"

"Fifty eight, fifty nine, _Feim!"_ Harald Shouted, becoming ethereal. Just as he said the last word Alarendir made his attack, sending a bolt of lightning at him. The bolt however, simply tripped one of Harald's Aetherian Runes, hidden from sight behind a curtain. The counting had actually been an elaborate ruse, designed to have Alarendir make a pre-emptive attack, only in fact it caused the very attack he had been trying to avoid.

The bolt caused a chain reaction, detonating just over a dozen other spells around room, one on the pillow, touch activated, another on the doorknob, to send a fatal surge through the offending hand.

The end result was a magnificent conflagration.

Well, from a spectator's point of view, from the Altmer's it was no doubt incredibly painful and frustrating, although brief. Following Alarendir's combustion, Harald floated down and took normal form again, he had Warded the chamber so that the stonework would be unharmed, but had not masked the noise, which would bring people running in a few seconds. Harald set to work, the transition from life to death was traumatic and problematic for some souls, however, Harald turned out to be correct in assuming that elves would take their deaths better than humans, as they had more time in the mortal realm.

"Why am I no longer angry with you?" asked a spectre from where Alarendir had been standing.

"No glands." Replied Harald, having once asked the question himself, "No pre-programed biological response."

"Oh…" replied Alarendir. "What happens now?"

"Now I eat your soul." Said Harald, drawing the spirit closer, imagining him to be a Word Wall he was standing in front of. He locked onto the spirit's 'eyes' and started pulling him in, Harald felt his Dragonblood boil, fire running through his veins in an immense rush of complicated feelings, elation from himself, joy, both muffling the vague disgust he had at devouring the Thalmor's soul, but this was overlaid by sorrow and confusion from the elf, as well as a dark sort of humour from Vulindinok.

_One more soul. _Came the deep voice in Harald's head, _One more _But them subsided in contented ease.

Harald shivered slightly, in spite of the warm surroundings, and then walked out the door. Just as he opened it he was confronted by what seemed to be the entire senior staff of the College.

"Good evening." He said politely, recovering quickly.

"We felt a huge energy surge." Said Uariat lamely, trying to lean around him to see inside the room.

"Yes, that would have been me." Replied Harald.

Dunlain, having apparently cottoned on to the obvious, asked the next question. "Where is the Thalmor?"

"I obliterated him."

"Why?" gasped a Redguard from the back.

"He offended me." Relied Harald candidly.

Several of the College mages looked considerable less annoyed, no doubt they disliked Alarendir, or rather they _had_disliked him. However, the Arch-Mage's expression seemed to actually get worse. "We tolerate a great many things at the College Harald, but not murder."

Perhaps there was a point there, but Harald did not think it had been murder, murder was an 'unjust killing', and to him it was just to prevent Vulindinok from murdering everyone and everything in existence. Besides, the Thalmor had still been spying on them, Harald took exception to that.

"And what, pray tell, are you going to do about it?" asked Harald after considering for a few moments.

"I'm afraid we will have to take you before the Jarl." Replied the Arch-Mage, "The College is still in Winterhold, and as such the dispensing of justice falls under his jurisdiction."

Harald actually laughed, despite the various spells aimed at him from the Arch-Mage's sympathisers. "Firstly, I am Thane of the Hold, secondly, he was an elf, a people not too popular at the moment, and thirdly, the Jarl is my friend." He explained, listing the items on his fingers like one might a shopping list, "Therefore, what makes you particularly sure he will even bother having a trial, and not just dismissing the case?"

The small proportion of Nords in the crowd immediately put away their spells after that, seeing his logic. Some of the elves looked angry though. Harald frowned, it was not his fault no one liked elves, they might at least try and be less snobbish.

"Furthermore, what could you possibly compel me with that might make me come with you?" Harald asked.

"Force if nothing else." Warned the Arch-Mage. "We here are the most powerful mages in Skyrim."

Harald nodded at that, they had a point, however, even if they did 'compel him with force', he could still turn ethereal and escape through the wall. The Become Ethereal Shout was one of the fastest to recharge. "Indeed this might be a powerful agent of compulsion," he agreed, "But as I understand it, to channel Aetherius one must have command of one's body? As magic passes through the soul?" he asked.

That threw them, and most of the crowd looked distinctly uneasy at the mention of souls, especially in such a tense situation.

"Don't kill him!" called a voice from the side, Harald looked over, seeing the Arens and Haestan, standing off to the side, drawn by the commotion.

"I had not intended to." He replied, then looked back to the crowd.

"My point being," Harald continued, and stepped forward, taking the Arch-Mage's gnarled hand in one of his, "What can you do when I have your soul?" he asked kindly, and pulled at the man's spirit.

The Resurrection Stone did its work and the Arch-Mage's body collapsed in a heap, and to the surprise and horror of all around Harald stood now holding a pale shade by the throat. He locked on to its eyes briefly, feeling Vulindinok rise in anticipation of another soul, but quashed the desire to consume the man, hurling him back into his body. There was a gulp of breath as the Arch-Mage righted himself, and stared with wide eyes.

"My sphere is that of Command, of the spirits of the living and the dead." Harald said, spreading his arms wide, "Of the air when I fly, of matter when I use conjuration in ways the good Professor Arulam over there has never dreamed of," his voice steadily grew louder, "My Feindfyre has destroyed armies, I have died twice, and yet I live."

Harald looked around at the crowd, each looking at him, and each turning their eyes to the floor as he held their gaze. The Arch-Mage endured the least, still recovering from his experience.

"I have a boat to catch and a dragon to slay, is anyone planning on trying to stop me?"


	19. Black Ash, Black Water

_Tabby Tom Cat: Nope, the main in game ones just tend to be (easier to say/read), eg, _Alduin_ and _Paarthurnax_, the important ones you meet really, have 3 sylables, but this is only for ease of reading, Esbern says in the main quest: "The names of Dragons are always three Words of Power". Although, that having been said, Dragons can apparently lose their names of they go mad, e.g. _Numinex_, who's name doesn't relate to any Words. _

_adrian11: 'Transmute Mineral Ore', turns iron into gold, I meant in Skyrim rather than Harry Potter, Iron Ore costs 2 gold, gold ingots can be sold for 100 gold, that's like a profit of 200% or something? It would destabilise the market if he flooded it, but the principles the same for other types of metal I should think._

_aback: Wait and see._

_Ghost Reader1996: Nah, but I can see how people might think that_

_Samuez: Should have been 'Harald and the Professor', corrected that now, and he's pretending he doesn't have a problem with Daedra because he wants to learn from a guy who summons Daedra, like, if you wanted to learn Christianity, you wouldn't tell the priest you wanted to learn from that you were a Satanist_

_Thanks for the other reviews from other people _

_Havn't been updating recently because of lack of time, I'm doing work experience in London and the travel times mean I get back pretty late, meaning no time for writing, but it ends tomorrow, so I'll have a new chapter out during the weekend._

_**OOOOooooooOOO**_

Smoke rose from Red Mountain.

The distant sky was red with the glow of magma, bubbling up from Nirn's core; it cascaded down the mountainside like gold running in the mould of a jeweller. Clouds of ash poured out of the caldera, then carried and cut above, the ash fell in tiny grey specks, settling in the hair of the crew of the _Frydraca. _

"This is an evil place." The crew whispered, "What could live in this barren wasteland?"

Harald agreed with them, the ash cloud could be seen just as they had passed Solstheim, eclipsing the twin moons of Nirn in darkness. The only light now in the night came from the molten rock, red fire shining off the darkness lying over Morrowind.

A dragon though, would no doubt consider it home, it was a creature of fire, and would think a mountain of fire a perfect place to live.

They had beached the ship the day before and made landing in the sunken ruins of Gnisis, as had been the plan. During the Red Year most of Vvardenfell had been destroyed, either obliterated by the wracks and tremors of the eruption, buried under ash, or swallowed under torrents of sea water coming swiftly in through newly opened fissures. Gnisis had been subject to the latter two circumstances. The natural harbour of the West Gash being broken, water rushing in and flooding the town, after that the ash came, mixing with the water, landslides and avalanches of rock from the highlands crashing down into the sunken town. The _Frydraca_ had been fended off by Nords with oars, avoiding the remains of buildings in stone, of rotten timbers, and cutting slowly through the viscous dark sludge.

Harald made his way up a low hill, his feet slipping in the ash, sinking with every step into the treacherous substance. He reached the top and looked out on Vvardenfell, half the mountain was gone, magma streaming out of the top instead and straight down the side. The intact side was two huge horns of darkness, blacker than the clouds above in the sky, separated only by an indistinct line of different shades.

"It is worse than when we left." Said Savos from behind Harald.

Harald was silent, transfixed by the red glow.

"I only remember the ash fall." replied Siva.

"You were very young."

Harald glanced back, around three quarters of the crew, as well as Haestan and the Arens had climbed the slope with him, the others wandering about the area, heedless of danger, thinking it doubtful that anything survived and posed a threat in the inhospitable surroundings.

Below them was another ruin, this one covered in ash but elsewise untouched, there were domes and spires rising up from drifts of ash, settled in great piles because of the sheltered nature of the valley. But the buildings were neither majestic nor grand, instead the domes were ruinous, their roofs fallen in, and the spires were twisted like tentacles or the fronds of some sinister creeping plant.

Harald slid down the opposite side of the hill, ash cascading down as his crew skidded down, following their Captain. They walked into the ruin, seeing strange Daedric characters written in the stones, each rock telling an age of Dunmer history.

The domes went up to a larger spire, the previous dome completely crumbled, a wide column with a spiral staircase running up the sides left, crowned with the remains of twisted stonework.

Harald climbed the circling stair, his commanders standing with him on the summit while the crew spread out through the village, checking for enemies. Harald heard the sound of brief battle below, watching three small Scamps, a little goblin-like Daedra; flee out of a building, presumed by a few men and dying swiftly, their demonflesh rended under honest Nordic steel. This scene was repeated a few time through the area, in each instance the lesser Daedra perishing without incident, putting up little fight to the Nords.

"How many have bows?" Harald asked, still surveying the town but turning slightly so Haestan was in the corner of his eye.

"Some." The Lieutenant replied, "Though not many, it is a coward's weapon, suited only for hunting."

"Bring them all." Harald instructed, "And have the rest stand ready with the nets on those rooftops." He said, pointing to a wide avenue leading up to the temple, the centre of the Daedric Ruin. There were two large weighted nets in the hold of the ship, usually used in the catching of mammoths, to confuse and disorient the beast while men with heavy spears stabbed at it. Harald was hoping the same tactic would be effective in this case on the wings of the dragon. He also ordered long spears brought out, almost pikes, specially made from gray ash wood and wrapped in oilskin so the wood would not warp in the _Fyrdraca's _belly.

Harald hoped to lure Ahbiilok through the avenue, up to the tower, then his men would cast the nets over the dragon's wings and trap him on the ground, then Harald would make the kill.

They worked through the night, with no thought of sleep, only pausing briefly to eat, but taking little food and drink. Their anticipation alone was enough to sustain them, the thought of the first dragon seen in centuries, millennia even, since the time of Tiber Septim himself, the first dragon slain in centuries.

Harald had debated with himself during the journey, and still did now, crouched in the centre of the platform, one hand splayed on the stone before him, preparing himself for the fight. He had first wanted to face the Ahbiilok himself, in a single duel to the death; it seemed somewhat unfair on the dragon to attack him with thirty men as well as Harald's puissant self, Olaf One-Eye, the mythic Nordic High King had triumphed single handed over the dragon Numinex atop Mount Anthor. However, when he had first broached the subject with Haestan the man at once refused, arguing that a death in pursuit of such a beast as a dragon would be any Nord's dream, a certain means of entering Sovngarde, the Mead-Hall of Shor, where each aspirant was challenged and had to recite their deeds of valour, the pursuit of a dragon would be a great deed.

Harald was oddly proud of them for that, the solemn pride and iron-clad certainty in which they accomplished their tasks gave him strength, and he was thankful for it.

"They are ready." Said the only female voice in the crew.

Harald nodded at Siva, "Take your position." He told her.

Steps began back down the spiral, cloth and leather shoes muffling the sound rather than the steel-shod boots of a Nord.

"Don't die." She ordered, paused once again, and departed.

"I can never die." Harald whispered once she was gone, opening his eyes to the baleful glow of the Mountain. He drew breathe, positioning his body forward, one foot before the other, arms wide:

"_**AH BII LOK!"**_

The stones shook at his Shout, and Nords on the rooftops were thrown off their feet by the power of the Call. New clouds of ash spat up, spiralling in great whirls and circles in the path of the Shout.

Harald waited.

But not for long, a distant sound was heard, it came closed, a roar, deafening as the Shout that had preceded it. Huge and deep throated it echoed, bouncing in the ruins, men clapped hands to ears, loose rocks were shaken down, their mortar crumbling at the violence of the noise. Soon a thunder came. A dark shadow crested the Red Mountain's head, two pinions lifting it high, silhouetted against the red glow of the lava.

With sudden swiftness a long tongue of fire shot out from the head of the shadow, a brief glimpse of shining scales and curling horns from it before the fire receded.

The Nords shouted and cried, cowering behind the masonry from the dark beast, only a few standing tall, yelling commands to stand ready, to prepare, to fight! A volley of arrows sped up into the black, loosed in panic, none hitting their mark. More calls came to hold, to take shelter for the second pass, but Harald stood.

He slowly drew his sword and flexed his shield arm, heavy disk of metal strapped to it to keep him safe. His vision was obscured by neither helm nor coif, and his hair ran free in the wind.

Two bonfires roared their song on either side of the tower, flames leaping up on either side of Harald bathing him in light and heat. Dragons were drawn to fire, and these would draw Ahbiilok to Harald, and so it did, another resounding roar from the dragon heralded its pass. The beast swooped down the avenue as Harald clashed sword on shield, the Song of the Dragonborn coming to his lips as it soared in his head, the chant excluding everything else, it was him, and the Dragon.

Red eyes shone on either side of a shining snout, mouth open with magnificent teeth, the scales of Ahbiilok reflecting firelight in a hundred different colours. Wings flapped with crashing waves of pressure, air blasting across the town.

The Dragon had come.


	20. Red Fire, Red Blood

_Apologies for the delay. I finally brought the DLCs, Dawnguard was alright, the Soul Cairn and the Forgotten Vale were incredibly tiresome though, as you can't fast travel and there are no landmarks. Serana was fun, I went with the Dawnguard, mainly for the crossbows, but then got her to turn me, actually only for the night eye spell, as I was getting annoyed about traipsing around in the dark only to have a Falmer or something jump out and stab me in the face. Both DLCs will eventually be included, but not for a while._

_I've tried to explain how Dragons work in this chapter, as in, the physical aspects, obviously they're magical, but I have to theorise on some of the other bits work, eg, why the scales and the bones of a dragon stay around and not the teeth, as such, ive altered what happens when a Dragonborn kills one to show this. Its not a big change, just something the game devs probably couldn't do because of time reasons._

_Garmon z evil: Yes, canonical Harry can be sneaky and stuff, but he is also a pretty simple character, his main trait is bravery, I thought that could go over to the 'Nord' ness he's displaying, he's a very straightforward person, that lack of deception can easily be seen as an honourable side. He will use tricks and summon stuff, it's just a lot easier and faster sometimes to hit it with a sword till it dies.  
You might be confusing the Civil War with the Great War. He certainly would take part in the latter, his loyalty is to his friends really, and as a Thane he's sort of expected to fight, therefore as he wants to protect his friends and they are going off to fight, he's gonna go kill some elves. Winterhold never actually gets attacked by the Thalmor, or, for that matter, any of Skyrim, the war is mainly in Cyrodiil and Hammerfell, so 'defending his home' would mean going to war.  
Thanks for the review _

_unanimously anonymous. mostly: I started the story before Helgen because playthroughs are boring mostly, otherwise this would just be 'Harry Potter in Skyrim Doing the Main Quest And Stuff'  
On the point of Transmute Mineral Ore, I got the impression that no-one else in Skyrim knew about the spell, possibly the resident mage in the bandit camp you find it in was the one who invented it and they wanted to keep their operation secret, explaining why everyone isn't doing it and crashing the economy like you say. The game (awkwardly) doesn't give much specific info on how spells are done/ learnt, its just 'buy this book and click on it', so I'm having to mainly make that stuff up as I go along, hope it seems reasonably plausible._

* * *

Hot air rushed by Harald as he jumped down from the tower, the shadow passing over him as he fell. Ahbiilok seemed wary of coming to close to him, as he could shelter from the Dragon's fire behind the ruined pillars, and had instead tried to swoop down upon him from above. Harald knew this position was untenable, and so jumped. The fall was short, and he landed in a pile of ash the crew had swept together for just such a purpose.

Harald churned his way out of the ash, his mouth closed to prevent him inhaling it, some still making its way into his throat and tickling it, making him cough, the dragon's wing beats having swept up great gusts of the stuff, swirling all around his as Harald sprinted for the cover of a building.

A gout of fire rushed over his head and Harald rolled through the threshold of his target shelter, a gloved hand pulled his pauldron and swung hum around, throwing a blanket over him to put out fire he had not known burned on him.

"The skin is magic resistant!" Shouted the cloth swathed figure that had pulled him in, Harald saw the slight glow of Savos' red eyes in between two folds of cloth, one covering the forehead and the other the nose and mouth, protecting him from the immense heat boiling off the Dragon's flame.

"What about bows?" asked Harald, diving out and across a street, hearing Ahbiilok thrashing around in their previous building. Another flare rushed overhead and Harald heard shouting from above. A dark shape, similarly attired to Savos ran down a set of stairs, the stone crumbling under him on the last few steps and staggering into Harald's arms.

"The hide's too thick!" shouted the man who had just come down, hearing Harald's question.

"Second Position!" roared Harald, shoving the man away and bounding up a different stair, Savos trailing behind him. The running man was going from building to building as Harald ran, calling to his companions to tell them of the next part of the plan. Phase 2 dictated that if the mages and archers could not pierce Ahbiilok's skin, the heavier spears and nets would be used.

Harald reached the top of the structure, looking out on another ruined dome, dark shapes of Nords crouching with the spears. An unmasked Haestan beckoned Harald over, handing him a boar-hunting spear, it was relatively short and heavy in comparison with a normal spear, with 'lugs' at the back of the head, two extending pieces of metal that would prevent the animal from pushing its way up the spear to attack the spearman in its last rage.

"It's on the other side of the town." said Haestan quietly, slowly looking around the corner of the wall. Harald followed his gaze, seeing a thin tail smashing across a balustrade, one Nord hurdling over it as it whipped across close to the ground.

"Get everyone into position, I'll be the bait." Harald said, clapping the steersman's shoulder and running off.

"Watch your Wards!" called Savos after him. Then a hunting horn sounded, two high blasts to tell everyone in the town about the plan, it was echoed a minute later as Harald was sprinting across a small garden of hardy red vines, covering the floor in a carpet.

Harald ran through several other buildings, pushing aside retreating men as he went, then finally coming to a skidding stop in the centre of the main road.

Clouds of ash and smoke billowed from the buildings, kicked up from the Dragon's great wing beats, Harald could feel rather than see the Ahbiilok, the Song in his head pointing him accurately toward his foe, he felt both drawn and repulsed by it in equal measure. Drawn because he sensed a fellow _Dovah_, but repulsed because his _Dovah Sos_ boiled and called for him to slay it and devour the power.

"_Fus!"_ he Shouted, aiming his Thu'um down the street, toward where he had begun his circuit from the ruined tower. The Shout cleared away the dust in the air and revealed Ahbiilok. The Dragon was some indeterminate dark colour, Harald though maybe a very dark blue or indigo, but the colour seemed to shift as firelight reflected on the scales. At the moment the Dragon's neck was buried halfway in a doorway, but hearing Harald's Voice he quickly brought it itself out again, jaws red with some brave Nord's blood.

"Let me taste your Thu'um Ahbiilok!" Harald taunted, striding forward, shield in one hand and sword in the other, he settled into a defensive stance a few metres away from Ahbiilok's jaws.

The Dragon seemed to puzzle, tilting its head to the side in confusion, but then reared back and obliged Harald. He seemed to Shout without using Words, a thing Harald though impossible. Flames rolled toward him and Harald ducked behind his shield, a blue shimmer of the already prepared Ward on its surface, still the metal began to glow, nearly burning Harald through the thick furs he had wrapped the inside face in to protect him from the heat. A few seconds of this inferno the attack ceased, Harald risked a glance backward, seeing that the ground was covered in flames behind him, a narrow 'V' of unburnt ground which had been protected by his shield.

A shadow crossed the moon and Harald instinctively rolled forward over his shoulder, feeling something huge pass through the space he had been in. The Haafingar Blade went up, stabbing above and caught on something, but was turned. Harald ducked again under a claw swipe and ran further forward, under the Dragon, stabbing upwards as he went. Each strike was turned by smooth scales, and Harald had to parry another strike, this time by the Dragon's snapping jaws, teeth glinting orange and red, tinted by ruddy fire.

Harald retreated slightly, shield up block another attack, taking stock of his situation, the first assault had been desperate, and his had not anticipated the Dragon's speed, thinking that such as large beast would be slower to move.

Ahbiilok still towered above him, now sporting a jagged cut on his long neck, courtesy of one of Harald's wild stabs. Their positions had been switched, with Harald's back to the tower, just as he had planned. Ahbiilok rose again, ready to breathe fire on him, but Harald was ready.

"_Fus Ro_!" he Shouted, the second Word directing the Force into Ahbiilok's open mouth, the glint of deadly fire at the back of his throat. The result was a backfire, as in a gunpowder weapon, the fire was blocked by Harald's Shout and Ahbiilok's neck bulged outwards painfully, the bones cracking. The Dragon coughed, smoke coming from his nostrils and from the open mouth, the Dragon having not been expecting such a strategy.

"Now!" Harald yelled, running forward.

Weighted Nets span down and Nords leapt with them from the rooftops, spears and heavy axes grasped in hand. Some landed on the Dragon itself, armoured bodies crashing with terrible force onto the beast's wings, hurting if not crippling him. More men ran out of doors all along the street, a dozen or more to support their comrades. They surrounded the _Dovah_, the spearmen stabbing at the underbelly, the traditional weak spot of a Dragon, the axemen targeting the limbs. Haestan, the only man to have kept his footing on the Dragon's back as it writhed below him, brough his axe down again and again on the right shoulder of the monster, chips of bone and small scales flying up with each swing.

Harald took a flying leap, pushing off Ahbiilok's snout and running nimbly up his neck, avoiding large spines that adorned it. Spears of ice skidded off scales, Harald glanced up and saw two robed figures raining spells down onto the hide, aiming at the head, more as a distraction than to cause harm.

Suddenly Ahbiilok reared back on his back legs, wings flapping, tail lashing, Haestan fell with a shout of surprise, three Nords were sent flying by a buffet of a wing and five more by the swipe of the tail. Harald grasped one of the horns on the back of the Dragon's head and held on, he gripped on with his legs as he might on a running horse, battling with the Dragon for mastery.

"_Mul!"_ Harald Shouted and light soared from his mouth and out to his arms, surrounding the limbs with spectral armour, he felt strength flood through him and, only gripping with his legs, took his sword in a two handed grip, hacking at Ahbiilok's face and head. The Dragon roared in pain and frustration at the unwanted rider.

Harald heard shouts from around him, encouragements and blessings; the Nords retreated out of necessity at the violent thrashing of the Dragon as it tried to displace its enemy. Harald also had to hold on eventually as the remaining functioning wing talon raked across his back, opening a long but shallow wound, ripping his armour apart. Ahbiilok's head whipped around and from side to side, Harald gripping with his free hand now, having discarded his shield in favour of attack, his other arm still trying to plant his sword point somewhere important, perhaps the other eye, the first having been lost to one of Harald's earlier stokes.

Too late Harald realised an error as Ahbiilok drove left instead of right, he had been trying to anticipate the Dragon's moves and shifting his weight accordingly but this time he was thrown from his perch, shooting through the air for several seconds before landing painfully on his shoulder, rolling to a stop, somehow managing to keep hold of his sword.

Hearing another bellowing roar from Ahbiilok, Harald rose from his fall, there was something wrong with his left arm, he could not move it past shoulder level, but perhaps it was just dislocated. He fixed it with a quick spells, then looked up.

Just then Harald saw the dragon surge forward again, his one good wing flapping, the other trailing behind it, digging a wide furrow in the ash. As he readied himself, Sigurd ran out in front of it, planting a spear in the ground which Ahbiilok impaled himself on, striking through the already damaged shoulder joint and the spearhead slicing a line across the leathery skin between the fingers that made up the Dragon's wing.

Ahbiilok roared and flailed again, warding off Nords who had pursued him up the street, trying to cut at the tail and back legs. The Dragon reared, mouth open, but did not flame, bringing his open jaws down on Sigurd. Harald stopped him though, waving his sword horizontally and Banishing Sigurd to the left before he could be eaten whole. As a result Ahbiilok's face crashed into the stones, not expecting his prey to have disappeared, he could not correct his momentum and another cloud of ash was thrown up by the impact and the advancing Nords thrown off their feet for the second time.

"_Ah Bii Lok!"_ Harald Shouted again, in this time he had made his way to the top of the tower, wishing to end the battle where his had begun it.

Ash cleared, and raging out from it Ahbiilok slithered like some low serpent, tail swishing and running on his back legs, crashing into the tower with his shoulder, shaking its very foundations.

"_Ah Bii Lok!"_ Harald Shouted, hoping to enrage Ahbiilok futher.

The Dragon grasped the stonework with his talons, grasping at the mortar and sending bricks and masonry crashing down.

"_Ah Bii Lok!"_ Harald taunted again.

Roars went up; shaking the buildings in the Dragon's rage, the spikes of his neck crested the parapet, Ahbiilok having found purchase on the stair, claws digging furrows into the steps. Then came the head, still as fearsome as when the battle had begun Harald could make out the great horns and sharp teeth of the Dragon, but now the nose and mouth were crumpled, and several of the teeth were missing, as was one of the eyes, and scratches and scores from Harald's blade decorated the muzzle extensively. Liquid fire leaked from the sides of the mouth, the ability to flame having been compromised, but the furnace itself not yet quenched.

For the third time Ahbiilok reared back, swaying away from the tower, wings and legs grasping it for support as he attacked solely with his mouth, however, each bite at Harald was deflected and responded to with greater force, Banisher spells, Blasting Hexes, each flew from the end of the Wizard's sword as he wielded it like a bat, swinging back and forth with each pass of the dragon.

At last Harald caught it in a flaming rope, swirling around the Dragon's neck and discarding his sword, he took the whip in both hands and hauled on it, slamming Ahbiilok's head into the tower top. The Strength of the Dragon Aspect still flowed through his arms and overpowering the _Dovah's_ already weak neck was easy. The fight went out of the Dragon and he turned his one good eye on Harald.

"_Krosis_." Mourned Ahbiilok, his voice sounding scratched and worn like it had gone unused for years, years of lonely existence in the ash wastes of Morrowind. "Worthy _Paal_, you have brought me down, I would know the name of he who did this. The _Qahnaarin_ who bested one of the mighty _Dov._"

Harald considered, still holding the rope of fire in his hands, it burned, coving Ahbiilok's scales in soot and yet not hurting him, the heat absorbed by the Dragon's already hot body. He briefly considered taking the animal back with him to Winterhold, reliving Olaf One-Eye's journey, but immediately discounted it, he would never be so cruel to cage a thing with wings in a prison of stone.

"Harald _Dovahkiin_." He spoke, his Voice reverberating with power, Ahbiilok's eye widened, recognising the ancient name and knowing its meaning, the Dragon tried to struggle, to escape its now known fate, but it could not move, Harald's flaming tether binding it to the Wizard's will.

Harald stepped forward, feeling a cold band around his finger and a weight on his shoulders as the Hallows unconsciously settled around him. His arm turned spectral as he plunged it into Ahbiilok's head, ripping the Dragon's soul free of its moorings and pulling it out, kicking and struggling at him, fearing now the true death of a Dragon, the winner devouring the soul and entire being of the loser.

As the soul left the Dragon's body the still warm carcass slid slowly off the tower, the head released from its bands and a small set of horns grinding across the stones.

Harald watched dispassionately, Ahbiilok's soul held by the throat in one hand, the other slack by his side.

Ahbiilok's body began to disintegrate, the skin glowing and sagging, flesh disappearing into burning embers, the conflagration growing until it engulfed the whole body. Dead eye melting into slough which seemed to drip down the socket, skin hanging sallow on the bones, scales seeming to lose their lustre as the life left the body. Then, with almost religious slowness the whole body dropped off the tower, wings released their hold and the whole thing tumbling to the ground, several loud snaps being heard as the skeleton and skin landed.

Harald walked slowly to the lip of the tower, the edge worn away by Ahbiilok's hard scales. The Dragon's soul had lost most of its identity now, passing like mist through and around Harald, but he had not opened himself to it yet, and as he looked down on a crowd of small dark figures below him he threw Ahbiilok out into the darkness.

Gold, red and silver streamed in the night, a large indefinably cloud of energy floating a few feet away from Harald. He threw out his arms wide, this time standing strong as the Soul rushed into him, feeding his hunger.

_Feeding time! _Harald growled inwardly, feeling Vulindinok rise to accept the last offering.


	21. Oath-taking

_Separ: I was trying to covey that dragons, though in the game they mostly just attack you, are actually sentient. Sometimes they just fly about, not really attacking anyone. The game tends to portray them as just flying down and quickly dying against us as the Dragonborn(s). The only real character building stuff is from the friendly ones. _

_Samuez/DarkArmor: Yea, gotta remember that a dragon is actually a dragon, as in, the things that completely owned the men during the Dragon War. In the game we steadily build up power, meaning we find it increasingly easier to kill them. Conversely however, technically a single arrow through a dragon's eye would kill it just as easily as 30 men with swords. Also, real dragons wouldn't let me pop out from behind a wall every few seconds and shoot them in the face before trying to ineffectively breathe fire on me._

_Ahsanrox: Good point, have changed it accordingly, thanks._

_Jedielfsorcerer: about 60 years before Skyrim happens_

_getlostD91: excellent ideas, I'd thought of a few of them myself but you gave me some more, ill send you a longer PM at some point._

* * *

"I can't believe it…you're…Dragonborn!"

Needless to say, there was great amazement at the revelation.

"That's what you did isn't it? Absorb the Dragon's power?" asked the same man who had asked the first question, pressing forward, hand held out hesitantly.

"Like Talos himself!" exclaimed Sigurd loudly, stepping forward himself.

One presumably educated man at the back refuted this claim, pointing out how Tiber Septim, the man Talos had once been, was born years after the end of the Dragon War and therefore couldn't have fought, let alone seen a Dragon. However after the man realised no-one was listening to him he quickly stopped talking.

"Is it true?" said Haestan, shouldering his way to the front, his arm in a sling. The Steersman had a look of guarded reverence about him, as if wanting to believe but not trusting himself to.

Harald nodded, he had known this would happen, but had not known what kind of reactions he would get. The Thu'um was a different kind of magic, Divine magic some might say. The Nords might treat it differently than normal Aetherian magic. Harald hoped they did, and nodded, saying nothing. Not because he did not want to, but because it was taking considerable effort not to Shout, his throat was not just tickling, but burning. Most likely a result of absorbing Ahbiilok's soul.

"Hail Talos!" someone at the back shouted enthusiastically and an axe was waved about in the air. Several others caught on and a few men in the front actually knelt to Harald.

"Get up." he told them, taking Sigurd by an arm and pulling him up, "You saved my life, I'll not have you kneeling to me – All of you, get up."

The Nords did so, many of their weapons still on the ground.

Harald wondered absently if he was meant to make a speech or something. He could think of nothing in particular to say, other than 'Well Done', which he did say. Following this several of them asked what they should do with the skeleton.

"I'll take care of it." Harald replied, "Four of you stay here, the rest back to the boat, get it ready to sail, I don't want to stay here longer than necessary."

This sentiment was heartily agreed with, with more than a few suspicious glances up to the feiry mountain above them. Then the remaining crew, excepting four strong men Harald had picked out hiked back up the hill away to the dromond.

"Sigurd, Haestan," Harald called, "You two stay as well." The party, which also included the Arens, fell in behind him as Harald walked around the fallen dragon to its head, examining as he went.

The remains consisted of principally keratin, or so Harald guessed. First on the outside of the body were scales, overlapping and of several different sizes. Around the chest they overlapped extensively, but for instance about the eye sockets and face they were smaller and mostly receded into a dark leathery skin.

In other places scutum emerged, bony external plates as seen on some crocodiles or turtles, however these were fairly rare, as Harald guessed they were too heavy to have extensively in a flying creature. As Ahbiilok's body was on its back, having fallen from the tower, Harald could not see the spine, but from how the Dragon corpse lay he thought that rather than spines running along its back there would have been larger nodes of bone like knuckles or the protuberances of the vertebrae on other animals. This pattern was repeated along the brow ridges and snout, somewhat disfigured from the impact on the ground. As almost an afterthought Harald healed the snout before ordering the skin to be carefully cut from it and it severed from the neck.

In several areas the scales had either been cracked or splintered from the skin, and large patches of skin torn where axes and swords had cut them. In these areas the underside showed through. While the scales and scutum were for physical defence, the underhide was very thick, protecting the Dragon from weaker attacks as well as magical ones, this therefore was the reason the destructive magic the Aren's had employed against it was so ineffective. However, Harald could see some of the holes in the skin, particularly noting a few he himself had made. Further in he could see bones, they seemed huge and incredibly thick, as befitted an animal of Ahbiilok's size.

Interestingly however, virtually all soft tissue was gone, as Harald knelt at a wing he could see tiny canals in the leather, running across where veins had been before. The Dragonborn, it seemed, would absorb only the flesh and blood of the dragon.

"My Thane." Said one of the men, drawing Harald's attention, "We have the skull free."

"Good." He replied, "Stand back, at least twenty feet from the body."

The men nodded and the rest quickly retreated down the central road. Harald took out a large sack he had enchanted and suspended it, mouth open, it the air in front of him. Then he extended his arms, lifting the skeleton and skin off the ground slowly with his magic, levitating it across the space and then slowly into the sack. After this he took the sack and tied it to the back of belt, only showing a small bulge where the dragon was. Then he ordered the men back and told them to pick up the skull, hefting it after padding their shoulders as to better carry it, then Harald lead the small procession along the street, conjuring sets of staircases up the ash hill. The Dragon skull did indeed have bony nodules rather than spikes; however it did have horns which were curved intricately like a ram's, ridges running in circles around them from base to tip.

The troop trudged over the hill and out across the wastes toward the ruins of Gnisis, it was little over half a mile, and six strong Nords made little work of the skull, large though it was. Harald had chance to examine it while they carried it along, and noted the serrated back edges of the large front teeth, distinct from the flatter, almost squat back ones. He could also see where the muscles and tendons had attached, as well as an odd formation at the back of the mandible bone. As Harald wondered where he had seen it before he remembered a rather large crocodile he had once had to swim away from, this reptile also had the same formation on its skull once he had killed it after being trapped on a floating log in a large river in Australia. So either the dragon could swim, having evolved to have a flap of skin to keep water out when it had its jaws open underwater, or it was for the fire. Harald thought the latter more likely, given his use of the pouch to back-draft Ahbiilok's breath.

All in all, the Tamrielic Dragon was a most strange creature. Its head was of crocodilian nature, its tail serpentine, its scutum that of a turtle, and its legs a bird's. However, Harald did see a common ancestor in all of these animals, in the dinosaur, particularly the larger theropods like the Tyrannosaurus Rex. In fact, if the 'Tyrant Lizard' was slimmed down and given wings and horns, it might look something like Ahbiilok had.

"Butcher's Bill." Called Savos, bring Harald out of his thoughts, he turned to find Savos walking along beside him, matching Harald's long slow stride with smaller but faster steps, hidden under the flow of his robes. The Dunmer had abandoned his protective swaddling but had his hood down, hair a few shades darker than Siva's held in a topknot at the back of his head.

"How many dead?" Harald asked, being under no illusions that the adventure would be perilous and expecting casualties.

"None actually." Replied Savos, "Many injured, but none actually dead."

Harald was pleased, and said so.

"There's one fellow you might want to look at though with your 'Atmoran Magic'" Savos made visible air quotes but did not call Harald out on his deception, "Name of Garth, lose an arm and a leg, the arm by the fire and the leg crushed and amputated after the dragon trod on it."

"How is he?" asked Harald, seeing how Savos might think the question stupid but it was obvious that the man's condition was not life threatening.

"Stable, Siva patched him up but she told me to tell you that you might be able to do something for him."

Harald nodded, "Certainly, my 'Atmoran Magic' is quite versatile." He quickened the pace slightly, knowing what question as coming next.

Savos glanced back, noting the increased distance, "Where are you actually from?" he asked quietly.

Harald smiled, wondering whether or not to explain. "Savos my friend," he said at length, "you are a very curious person, but you lack caution. It will be your undoing, and that was a statement, not a threat."

Savos raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"What do you know of astrology?" Harald asked finally.

Savos looked moderately puzzled, but racked his brains for the knowledge. "This is Nirn, the planet, it floats in the Void with its moons Masser and Secunda, the plane we reside on is called Mundus. Aetherius shines through the sun and other heavenly bodies."

_More or less right_. Thought Harald, though the business with Aetherius grated on his rather more logical mind, for instance, he found it difficult to accept the idea of the sun being Akatosh's literal eye. However, he was inclined to believe facts, and the sun did seem to have some kind of energy to it other than what one might normally find in a large burning ball of gas.

"I am not a native of Mundus." Continued Harald. "I came here after much hardship and wished to create a new life for myself. Your curiosity is satisfied. You will tell no one." he ended laconically, just then noting how much he disliked ash, it brought back bad memories.

"But-" interjected Savos.

"Your curiosity is satisfied. You will tell no one" Harald repeated. "I have spoken."

Savos partook in some inner struggle against whether or not to question him further, but sighed, nodded, and fell back.

No sooner had Savos done this his sister took his place, wordlessly handing Harald a bag which clinked as she passed it across.

"Found them on the road." She said, matching Harald's pace, her long legs swinging and swishing in similar time with his. Harald opened the neck of the drawstring and felt around inside. It was still quite dark, but he could identify the objects inside without light easily enough, each was a shield in miniature, with a slightly ridged surface, but at the same time smooth.

Dragon scales. Probably chipped off during the fight.

"How many are they?" he asked, weighing the bag in his hand, bouncing it a few times.

"Thirty four." Replied Siva, "I think."

"In that case I'll give each man a scale." Said Harald, there were only twenty seven men in the crew, just enough to work the oars really, that would give them proof if they were ever questioned while boasting about their dragon slaying Captain.

Siva nodded. "These as well, I found them in the ruins before the fight." She held up several old looking leather-bound books and handed them to him.

Harald looked at them and made to give them back, Siva had found them after all, and he had no particular interest in potentially Daedric texts.

"I'm not carrying them." Siva protested, shoving them back, "You're the one with the Magical Pouch of Wonders, you can carry them."

Harald paused in his walk, it was a singularly sensible idea, and he shrugged, and placed the tomes into his aforesaid pouch. "Technically it's a Bottomless Bag." He pointed out, "Or, a Bag of Holding, if you're feeling anarchic."

Siva gave a little cough like she was trying to cover up a laugh.

Finally the procession rounded a final volcanic spur of rock and came out into the bay of destroyed Gnisis. They were greeted by loud cheering and the pounding of sword on shield and a chant of 'Ha-rald, Ha-rald." As well as some "Dragonborn!" mixed it for flavour. Harald raised a hand in acceptance, having expected the shock to have worn off and the excitement to have replaced it. He leapt up the gangplank and onto the deck, many of the sailors clapping him on the shoulder, and one of them kneeling and pledging himself and his family to Harald's eternal service. Harald smiled at the man and told him to get up, patting him gently and directing him toward a bench to have a sit down, the fellow obviously being overexcited or already having too much to drink.

Then the dragon skull was brought up to great astonishment, and set in the centre of the deck to be crowded around, the men stretching out eager hands to check that it was real and not some phantom of a dream. Haestan was passing round his magic horn to the great delight of many, and Harald eventually had to shout to be heard.

"Where is Garth?" he asked the multitude.

They grew silent, some of the more traditional men making the signs in the air and many putting hand to throat to amulets that hung there. In ancient custom those too weak or wounded to greatly to fight were usually put down, allowed to go to Shor's Hall with their honour intact. The loss of a hand was especially terrible, as hands held weapons in battle and the story went that a Nord could not enter Sovengard if he did not hold a weapon when he died. There was even a special place at the bedside of old Nords, who would never die in battle, as the life left them the sword thane would pass the dying person a sword to grasp with whatever strength they had left, thus assuring their place in the afterlife. This tradition was especially important on ships, where each person who did not row was a drain on resources, sometimes seafaring men wished instead to drown and be eaten by the animals they considered the spirits of the waves such as dolphins and whales.

The crowd eventually parted, showing a blond haired man in his prime, his shirt hanging off one arm while the other sleeve was cut away, showing a shoulder swathed in bandages. His leg as well was gone halfway up the thigh. Harald went and knelt by Garth's side.

"My Thane." The man said, strength still in his voice, "Give me a sword, and send me to Shor, I am of no more use here. Tell my boy I died by the dragon, not like this."

Harald felt a delicate and complicated emotion blossom in his chest, far from the normal excitement and rage of the _Dovah Sos_, this was a purely human one, respect, admiration and compassion welled up in his chest.

"You have a son?" he asked.

"Aye Dragonborn, a lad of nine years, Vilof, a good lad. Aye, a good lad." Garth said, his voice trailing off and blinking quickly a few times. Many of the crew looked away sadly.

"And that is why you fight?" asked Harald, looking into Garth's eyes, holding the man's gaze.

"Aye my Thane, I fought for my family, for my home." Replied the Nord, his face set in an expression of sorrow and yet, something noble in his countenance moved Harald again.

Harald continued staring into Garth's eyes, almost measuring the man's soul. "And you will fight again." He said, "Cut away the bandages, then remove his shirt and roll up the trouser leg further."

Surprised at the order but relived that the Captain seemed to want to help their comrade; the crew did so, Garth looking the most confused of the lot, but trying not to wince as Haestan carefully slipped a dagger point under the bandages and slit them along the length, the rough cloth falling to the deck.

"Now." Said Harald after he had maneuverer himself to the injured side of Garth, "Let there be silence, I must concentrate." Almost reverently the assembled Nords quieted, watching Harald as he inspected first the arm, then the remains of the leg, all the while Garth looking still unsure, but hopeful.

"_Laas"_ Harald whispered, the red mist appearing on his closed eyelids, closed as to not distract him as he worked.

He gathered information about the wound, which tendons had been severed, which muscles torn, and after a few minutes he was ready. When he opened his eyes a silver mist was flowing around his fingers, fluttering and morphing as it went. Harald pressed the hand to Garth's shoulder, the man hissed in pain at the raw wound but Harald steadied him.

"Think of your family, think of your son." He commanded, and Garth did so, his good hand at an amulet of Talos, muttering either prayers to his god or recollections of his family.

Harald's magic travelled along the path of Garth's wound, forming a new arm out of the mist, the silver condensing to the consistency of adamant, flexing and warping as the viscous material settled into the shape of muscles and skin. Finally it moved into a new hand, Garth unconsciously moving fingers he had not had before. The crew gasped, breaking their silence, but Harald no longer needed it, and had moved onto the leg, shaping this one in the same manner as he had the first limb, and an entirely new leg, smooth and unblemished formed on the stump of Garth's injury. Then Harald stood, gently took Garth by his arms, old and new, and pulled him to stand. The Nord at first tried to stand on one leg, not knowing he had been healed, but then risked a glance down through closed eyes. He then fully opened his eyes and gaped down at his restored limbs.

"Shor's bones!" Garth eventually exclaimed, waving his arm about like a man trying ward away a bee.

This exclamation opened the way for the various members of the crew to ascribe the miracle to other deities, some for Mara for her mercy, some Stendarr, saying he had granted the man justice for his bravery, but most agreeing that it was ultimately Talos who had made Harald to it. Savos even joined in with a whispered 'By Azura!'.

Harald was perfectly happy with all by the last remark, he had accepted Talos as his god, and Garth followed Talos' commandments perfectly and no doubt if Talos had been around he would have done it himself. It could only help his cause to be seen as an agent of a Divine.

Harald then took Garth's silver arm and tapped it with a knife, a soft _clink_ coming from it as if it were metal, which, in a way it was. He then pressed the point against the arm, demonstrating its capabilities of endurance, then he asked Garth to grasp the knife, as hard as he could.

Just like Wormtail's, Garth's arm was just as strong, turning the knife handle into dust. Harald had to admit, one of the only good things Voldemort had done was provide him with the recipe for magical prosthetics, or rather, given him the idea in the first place to adapt it. The arm could even work as a magical focus like a wand if pressed to, and was better on Wizards than Muggles, as they were less likely to reject it. Harald was confident that this one would be acceptable to Garth's body though.

Garth then let out a loud laugh, glad tears finally streaming from his face, then sunk to his knees in front of his Captain, seizing Harald's hand and pressing it to his forehead. Then he wiped away the tears and pulled the sword he had thought he would be executed with and held it out to Harald.

"I am Garth, son of Olendan, son of Torir," announced Garth from his position, "father and husband, slayer of wild beasts and giants and sea-raiders. Greater deeds than these shall I gain, if the ring-giver gives me my wish to head my oath."

The crew turned to Harald, who as the accepting party of the oath had to speak the formulaic words to accept the man's oath. Harald knew that this was an incredibly significant event, but not the exact significance, and had to draw the words from the thoughts of the crowd. This was the Oath-Swearing of a Thane to a Jarl, an ancient custom for when no other service would suffice for repaying a debt. Nor could you compel a man to swear it, as you might other oaths, but it was usually a spontaneous offer after a life was saved in battle for instance.

Technically a Thane was simply a word for someone who served another person, and not necessarily the subordinate to a Jarl. Furthermore, Harald was not a Jarl, but being Dragonborn rather made up for it.

"These are mighty works of strength indeed." Harald replied. "Will you be my Thane so my folk can give thanks for your work and words?" he asked gravely.

"I will." Replied Garth, holding the sword higher in supplicant hands.

"Plight your faith with words of truth." Harald told him. Usually the Jarl had to call for a sword to be brought, but as Garth had one already, this part was not necessary.

"I, Garth, am your Thane." Said Garth, "I will always hold faith with you in matters of life and limb, and of honour against all mortal men. Never will I bear arms for anyone against you or your heirs, nor by word or by work, do ought of what is loathful to you." The language was archaic, but the words heavy with tradition. "And if in battle, I shall ever ward your life, even at the cost of my own, and if to enemies you should fall, I shall not leave the field alive till I have avenged you. By Talos and Shor, I plight my faith so that this sword may smite me should I break my vow."

Harald nodded, "I have heard your words, and I shall work with you in peace and faith, stand with you in need, deal with you in truth, and believe the truth of your word alone, unless there be a most strong and clear cause why I should not. Great gifts shall I give you when seated in feast together, and never shall I strike you, and speed your life as it were my one from this day till the End of Days. May Talos bear witness to these words, and may Shor hallow this oath."

Harald then took the sword, held it for a few seconds, then passed it back, signalling that Garth would now stand. Then he took a silver ring from his left arm and fastened it onto Garth's silver arm, clasping it as he did so.

"I am honoured by your oath." Harald told him, arm still grasped.

"My Lord." Replied Garth gratefully, "You have given me my family back."


	22. Stormcrown

_Texan Ranger: Several reasons actually, firstly, Artaeum (where they live) disappeared about 100 years prior to the events of Skyrim, and we have no idea why, so they might be held up by metaphysical traffic or some such, and therefore cant use their 'seeing' ability to locate Harald, they may not even be aware of him. _

_Secondly, the Thalmor at present are the most powerful they've been since the First Aldmeri Dominion, so the Order, being not that large and only having one base, might just want to stay away. _

_Thirdly, they can see into the future (possibly, it's probable, but evidence is inconclusive) so they might not want to interfere for their own reasons. Notice that they only interceded in Saarthal because they knew the Eye would be misused, and it was, Tolfdir and Ancano basically poked it to see what it was. _

_However, as Harald is not trying to get forbidden knowledge that the 'world is not ready for', they probably think its alright for him to go on doing whatever he's doing with it. (more on that later). In the College questline, the Auger of Dunlain says that 'To see through Magnus' Eye without being blinded, you require his staff', as Harald isn't trying to 'see' through it, he's fine._

_And there's that I just haven't gotten round to putting them in yet._

_Also, what do you mean by linear? _

_Vermin-lord: Certainly, in the game you are literally a random guy who stumbled into an ambush, annoyingly though, the game doesn't force you to do the main quest. Esbern's all 'Alduins eating the world ect' but you don't see any evidence of this if you immediately turn around out of Helgen and run as far away as possible. I think it might have been better if stuff actually happened, like earthquakes or something that *make* you go kill Alduin._

_Samuez: Well crocodiles have a secondary eyelid, which protects their eyes under water, and stuff like brow ridges can stop attacks. Then you have sharks which roll their eyes back when they bite so they don't injure themselves. So there would be defensive measures a dragon could take. However, it would have to know about it first. When dragons are just chilling on top of Word Walls all it would take would be a single (ridiculously accurate) archer to hit them in the eye. But, provided the dragon *did* see the archer, they're hardly going to keep their head still, so that makes it much harder. So as you say, it's doubtful that it would work, but there is the possibility._

_DarkArmor: I did consider using the scales to make another arm, but eventually discounted it (for now) as being far too complicated to just whip out. Harald'd have to research it first, taking quite a while, and then trial it and ect, and he already knew the silver hand spell when he got there, so there was no point. Besides, 'woah, your hand is metal and made of silver' is far more impressive than 'oh, you have scales, was your mother an argonian? *insert racial insult here*'_

_On the point of annoyingly high demand, they think it's a miracle, as most of them are pretty superstitious and Harald's using Wizarding, rather than Aetherian magic, so it's also improbable that they think it's a one-off. Thanks for input though._

_Wargamer08: To be fair to the Dragons, its not really their fault for wanting to eat stuff, its just their thing, like wolves eat rabbits. So not every dragon fight will be like the first, the only dragons that say much are the really old ones like Paarthurnax and the rest. _

_Most of the dragon combat will be more like 'dum dum dum Dum dum dum *rroooaarrr* skick skick scrosh ffssssswwwooorrssshh *Dragon Soul Absorbed*' – shortest battle description ever _

_Nix's Warden: Yea, it should happen more, I had a guard try to arrest me when I was standing next to a dragon skeleton, he probably had 'committed to his job' inscribed on his gravestone after. Really, it's not healthy to take on the guy who's literally wearing a dragon for armour _

_10000 SGA Fans can't be wrong: Thanks, and going back over that chapter, I can see what you mean. Canonically the characters are actually quite similar, it really comes out in book 5 and 6 with DUmbnledore being awkward about telling Harry stuff. It's probably where a lot of the 'Dark Lord Potter' fics come from. One annoying thing though, canon Harry seems to insist on thinking Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort are the same when they're clearly not. Riddle is charismatic, morally dubious and intelligent, whereas Voldemort is a Dark Lord. Anyway, good point, hope you enjoy the rest._

_Ofunu: Nope, city first, one of the first cities the Nords built, but it was abandoned at some point, loads of the Nord Tombs you visit in Skyrim were cities before. Examples of this would be places like Labryinthian, or Old Hrol'dan which were large cities in the past. They just look like tombs because as players we don't get to go in them much. Places like Ustengrav have to be at least as big as Windhelm._

_Zexs: Good point, hadn't thought of it that way, but I'm my defense, it wasn't his fault, it was almost Irgil's, he was the one pushing the information through. You don't blame a guy filling a kettle for a burst pipe, you blame the pumping station. Anyway, he doesn't need to 'control', he's Dragonborn._

_Aria Styles: Thanks, and yep, Harry/Siva, but not for a while. (mainly because I have no idea how to write a pairing)_

* * *

"Oh." Remarked Harald as he open his eyes to a snowy scene.

Vulindinok looked up, his maw red and bloody from the corpse of Ahbiilok pinned below him.

"_Yol!_" the black dragon Shouted, but this time Harald was ready and rolled nimbly to the side, allowing the jet of fire to pass him by.

"Isn't there a greeting in Draconic?" asked Harald, dusting snow off his shoulder where he had rolled on it.

"Only for the weak who have adopted the ways of the _Joore_." Replied Vulindinok, rearing up in what Harald was coming to realise was a customary pose for a _Dovah_.

Harald shrugged, apparently they were not there to discuss the deal between them.

"_Yol_!" he Shouted himself, Vulindinok barely batting a heavy eyelid at the conflagration as it rushed toward him. Formalities observed, Harald walked forward. "You know," he called to Vulindinok who had resumed his feast, "There has to be something said for the 'Mortal Ways', if Jurgen Windcaller could swallow the Thu'ums of a dozen other Tongues."

Vulindinok looked up, a shred of meat in his teeth, then he threw his head back violently and let loose another torrent of flame, roasting the meat as it soared through the air, and as it arced catching it again in his mouth, tearing another strip off it with his finger-talon.

"_Joore_ are weak." He concluded.

Harald nodded. To a dragon certainly, and to Vulindinok even more. "What are you doing here?" he asked it.

The Dragon looked at him, predatory eyes narrowed, "You need not scuttle away from my Voice like a _Paakin_ _Nivah." _Rumbled Vulindinok after he had eaten some more.

"I'm not a dragon." Replied Harald, offended at the insult.

Vulindinok looked up, eyes shining. "You are _Dovahkiin_!" he suddenly roared, batting his great wings across the peak, scattering drifts of snow about in flurries.

"_Krosis."_ Harald offered sarcastically, then thought for a while, "Does being _Dovahkiin_ make me a dragon or a human?"

Vulindinok roared again, his tail sweeping in great arcs. "I will not be _Thraku_, disgraced by having you as my Host!"

Not content to be ignored, Harald raged back at Vulindinok. "I am all you've got! It's not my fault you're sentient, that is entirely up to you." shouted Harald back, one leg forward and hand out, pointing at the dragon's head. "You will never escape, and you know it."

Vulindinok reared and loosed a flame into the air, melting a gust of snow so it turned to mist, quickly torn away by the winds. "_Geh_." Said the dragon, now bringing his head closer to Harald and turning it to survey in with one great eye. "But you are one of the _Dov_ in spirit, your _Slen_, Flesh, with wither like any _Joor, _but your spirit lives on. Learn to use that spirit, as a _Dovah!"_

"And how do I do that?" Harald asked.

"Endure." Said the Dragon, rearing up again, "Yet first partake of the _Slen _of your enemy."

Harald looked to the ravaged corpse of Ahbiilok, a true body this time, now a dark blue colour, but as Harald approached it parts of the skin shifted to green and some purples. The hide was iridescent, shifting and changing colour from different points in the light, reminding Harald of the Aurora above Windhelm.

Harald walked forward with a vague level of distaste and a large amount of curiosity at what Vulindinok was up to. Certainly a dragon's meat would be highly magical, and might indeed have some benefit to him 'partaking' of it. Dragon blood as a potion ingredient was also quite useful, having thirteen uses, Harald having improved on Dumbledore's twelve.

Then again, Vulindinok might be trying to poison him. However, on balance of thought, Harald through it more likely that the Death Dragon was trying to improve the survivability of his host. Meaning that if Harald died, or rather, was injured enough to make him as good as dead (as he could not die) Vulindinok too would be unable to act.

Regardless, Harald plunged his arm into Ahbiilok's chest, feeling around in the soft tissues for a convenient piece to grab and apparently eat. The chest cavity was like a furnace still, heat left from the great fire that burned unending in the breast of every _Dovah_. But as Harald knew himself to be dreaming he allowed the skin of start of blister under the heat, knowing that he would not actually be harmed, this was simply his 'weak flesh' as Vulindinok had said, and he must endure it, it was a case for mind over matter, something as a Wizard, Harald was particularly good at.

After a few more seconds he came across a strong, springy wire, following this down lower Harald found a veritable cluster of them, all leading to a large, seemingly solid organ. His elbow was not up against the wound, and he could reach no further. Thinking this the heart and its heartstrings, he grasped the heart fully by a ventricle and pulled with all his might. At first the strings held it in place, flexing slightly under the force of Harald's grasp, then with a fresh wrench the cords snapped and Harald staggered, pulling forth a slippery heart, a large number of tubes leading away from it, to supply the extra pair of limbs Ahbiilok had had. The organ was slightly larger than Harald's head, and run through with blue veins.

The heart was all muscle, each bite Harald took having to be chewed for at least a minute before he could swallow, and each new bite bursting some store of blood, coppery taste exploding against his lips.

After four of five minutes of this Harald grew bored and discarded the heart, letting the ravaged remains fall to the rock floor, and started insolent eyes up under dark brows to Vulindinok.

"I assume that was some deep philosophical test to see if I could 'endure'?" he asked the dragon, not feeling appreciably different other than a slight ache in his jaw.

Vulindinok gave the curious deep sound in his throat that was the equivalent of a laugh.

"Remember." He said, voice still rumbling like boulders grinding together, "You are _Dovahkiin_, not some weak _Joor_."

Vulindinok extended his wings and gave three huge beats of them, rising a few feet with each beat after kicking off the ground with his legs on the first. He gave one last roar and flew away, leaving Harald to look around him in puzzlement at how he was to return to his body. He assumed he was in a dream state of some sort, having fallen asleep in his throne- chair at the back of the _Frydraca_.

Still unsure of what to do about part of his soul being potentially detached, Harald was content to leave the situation as it was. I was as if he had made a Horcrux, except he had used his own soul as the container. He certainly did not trust Vulindinok, as dragons were well known liars, most myths about them ascribing their 'silver tongues', but he preferred a willing ally to a hostile superpower.

_Captain. _The wind said to him.

Harald looked around for the whisper's source, then he felt pushed forward by something, a pressure on his left shoulder.

_Captain!_ Came the voice again.

Something dealt him a terrific blow on the head and Harald bolted upright into wakefulness.

The stars were out, but the scene was mostly illuminated by a light coming from somewhere behind them, probably the dawn light penetrating through the ash covering Vvardenfell. Harald turned to see Haestan replacing the steering oar in its rest having just apparently hit Harald over the head with it to wake him up.

"Was that entirely necessary?" Harald asked, quickly healing himself before his skull began to ache.

"Well," replied Haestan, shifting himself so the oar went in the other direction, pushing the ship to port. "Not really, but given you gave a man two whole limbs back, I assumed you could heal a little bump on the head."

Harald shrugged, "More fool me for not wearing a helm."

Haestan laughed, white teeth showing from behind his beard and moustache. "Aye, your right there."

"Should have told the dragon that!" yelled someone from the crew and a chorus of laughs went up.

"We don't need to give them ideas." Replied Harald to the speaker, coincidentally the bartender he had taken to Solstheim. He could imagine it now, a Dragon striding majestically through a formation of Nords, plates of metal covering its hide, making it impervious to harm. "Think of it, an armoured dragon!" He called back to the man, "How would you kill that?"

"We wouldn't need to!" shouted the bartender back, "We have the Dragonborn!"

Harald heard a chuckle from Haestan and elbowed him in the ribs, effectively shutting him up.

"Well that's all well and good, just don't go telling everyone." Harald called back to them, leaning on the rudder, Haestan resuming his laughing. Of course he knew full well they would tell everyone and their dog, but it was the principle of the thing.

"Armoured dragons aside." Continued Haestan, "We're nearing Wintehold, and I didn't think it would be right for the Triumphant Hero to be asleep as we coasted in to port."

"How do you know where we are?" Harald asked, motion ahead, "All I see is fog."

"It is not named likely, this Sea of Ghosts." Replied the steersman, making a quick touch of his sword hilt as if to ward off any malevolent spirits.

As they had be talking a sea fog had crawled over them, and as Harald spoke it smothered them entirely, the younger crew members looking uneasy, but the older ones continuing as if nothing had happened, having previous experience of sea weather.

"I've sailed in fog many a time," continued Haestan, "And there is always a fire-beacon burning for ships coming in."

_Sensible._ Thought Harald, "Would you find it easier without the fog?"

"Of course." Said Haestan guardedly, nodding, "You want to do something about that?"

Harald grinned, walking forward. "Oars up!" he ordered, "Oars up, they'll probably snap otherwise." Harald had forgotten a great deal about weather patterns, but knew that air would likely rush in to replace what he was about to Shout away.

He exchanged nods with Garth and Sigurd as he passed them, and went to stand by the detached dragon head at the bow of the ship. Next to the skull was another dragon head, this one carved in wood and painted red. As they were sailing home the crew did not want to frighten the spirits of the land by mounting such a fearsome ornament at the front of the ship.

"Might want to cover your ears." He called back, then, raising his face to the sky, he Shouted.

"_Lok Vah Koor!"_

Harald's Voice went out into the sky, a stream of compressed air flying higher, ripping holes in the fog as it went. As the Shout climbed higher it diffused, tearing more clouds apart with the violence of the Shout, the shimmering blue outline of the Thu'um decimating the formations. On the ground as well Clear Skies did its work, the fog Haestan was so quick to curse fled before the Voice, miles of open sea opening out around them. At the cliffs of Winterhold also the Shout rebounded, a delayed thunderclap echoing back to them in the ship.

Then suddenly a strong wind swept up, the dromond flew forward, sails billowing, bulging out as cold air filled them.

"The Captain's Voice has filled _Frydraca's_ wings!" shouted Haestan, almost struggling to keep the course straight as the ship shot forward, "Set-to you men, hold on, and get us ready to land!" The crew cheered and Garth went to help Haestan with the tiller, silver arm easily holding it despite the water rushing past quickly.

Now that the fog and ash clouds were gone, Harald could see that it was in fact quite later than he had realised. The sun shone clearly but gave little warmth, as it was this far north usually. Despite Haestan's assurances, there was no beacon burning on the shore, probably because the townsfolk had not expected anyone to arrive as early as the _Frydraca_ had, given the exceptional time they had made across to Morrowind.

Distantly a high horn blast went up, followed quickly by two more at a lower pitch. Around Harald the crew ran two and fro, mostly collecting their belongings which were stored in the hold, one man standing at the bottom of the ladder, his arms appearing every few seconds with a bundle, which was then passed around till someone recognised it as their own. Elsewhere, the shields that were hung over the sides of the ship were taken off, each with a particular colouring or pattern, one with a rearing bear, one a yellow snake on a black background, and another a simple arrangement red and white stripes. After all the men had their shields there were still around thirty left over, this was a tactic used by the Nords when they went raiding to make their numbers appear larger than they in fact were. On walled cities there was a similar practice, where shields would be hung over the palisade to make it seem as though there were larger numbers in the fort than was true. To Harald it seemed a somewhat dishonest tactic for a purportedly honourable group to use, somewhat hypocritical of them.

Harald himself had no shield, and was as yet undecided about getting one. _Protego_ would take care of almost any magical attack, although his fight with Ahbiilok had shown that investing in a sturdy, and more importantly, a magically-resistant shield might be a good idea. He was reluctant to carry one as it would get in the way, and his off-hand was used mostly for casting spells, or holding the bottom of his sword. However, perhaps he could make a collapsible wrist guard which could extend to shield size or something similar. It was worth thinking about.

The Dragonborn stood on the gunwale, one hand clutching at the prow where the _Frydraca's_ head would be mounted, the other trailing free in the wind. His hair streamed out in the wind, lashing across his face just as it filled the twin lanteen sails of the dromond. Cries of joy and laughs came from behind him and Harald looked around, finding many of the men to be affecting similar poses, all thoughts of trying to control the ship's direction with oars fleeing from the thoughts of all but Haestan, manfully wrestling with the steering oar. One man had even climbed up the mast and was perched on the rigging, caught up in the euphoria that had swept through the crew. Harald felt a pressure on his arm and found Siva using him to climb up to the other side of the prow, her smaller hand covering his as she held on, robes and hair flapping in the wind.

While Siva had momentarily overcome her dislike of the sea and ships in general, meanwhile Savos was being sick over the side. Harald laughed at him again, and as they neared the coast, now only a few hundred metres or so off, he drew the pouch of dragon scales from his belt, having just had a brilliant idea.

"_Draconifors_!" he yelled, casting the pouch out over the water. The Transfiguration took hold and the bag burst apart, thirty tiny dragons giving little roars as they flapped out over the sea toward Winterhold. Following Harald's projected will they formed into an arrowhead and rose with a tiny tongue of flame from each, then dived down, through the streets of Winterhold, then over the crest of the Jarl's Hall, the only building visible from that elevation, and then north, making a circuit of the College. Then the flight came back to Harald, each dragon flying and perching in the hand of a crew member, then disappearing, the scales they were made of dropping into palms to the wonder and delight of the Nords. Once again Haestan was the exception to the rule, trying to bat the dragon away, not wanting to let go of the rudder even though the wind had lessened somewhat.

But the time the dragons had finished their display, no doubt terrifying the townspeople at the same time, the _Frydraca_ had almost made landing.

"Brace yourselves!" came Haestan's voice from the back of the ship and a second after the keel struck the stony bottom of the shore, a vibration accompanied with a loud grinding sound came as the sharp front of the ship tore up the beach, and then a shock came, throwing men forward, only kept on their feet by taking hold of the scenery. Siva however went flying forward, and had to be caught by the back of her belt by Harald and then dropped to the deck afterwards when she had regained her footing.

"Best landing ever!" called the man who had been standing in the hold as he was lifted out by his companions.

Harald laughed and jumped down onto the beach, stones skittering down to the sea as his landing displaced them, he then turned and lifted Siva down by the waist, finding her surprisingly light for the heavy robes she used. The crew descended easily, slinging a rope around the prow and under Haestan's direction hauling the ship up the beach more. They had landed a short distance from the harbour, and already a group of dock-workers had started running down the beach.

"Garth, Sigurd, Haestan, Arens," Called Harald back to the boat, "You're with me, someone pass down the skull."

Several more Nords jumped down from the ship whilst those who had dragged it up the beach threw the lines back onto the deck, then shouldered their packs and joined Harald up the beach. Haestan came to stand by his right with Sigurd next to him, and Garth and a few others had put Ahbiilok's skull on an improvised sealskin sled and were dragging it along by ropes.

As the dock-workers neared and began calling greetings Harald conjured a black cloth with the Hallows symbol on it and draped it over the skull. He had found that triumphant homecoming was always fun, even if the _Frydraca_ was the main place he stayed at the moment. Given that the ship held most of his friends.

"March!" Haestan roared, following Harald's lead as he walked slowly up the beach. On the cliffs above dark figures peered down at them. When the first group of Harald and company reached the largest lift he stepped onto it, directing his men to the stone ramps which zigzagged up the cliffs. Meanwhile, the lift began to move, ropes creaking as they snaked upward.

Eventually the party's heads crested the top of the cliff and saw the crew who had hurried up to meet them standing with their backs to the cliff edge. "Way for the Captain!" growled Haestan loudly and the crowd parted.

Harald took up the painter for the sled, and walked forward, clapping his excellent herald/lieutenant combo on the shoulder as he passed. As the crew opened out he saw a diverse collection of people, first there was Kjark with his retainers and Jarl's Court, then the people of Winterhold, approximately a hundred people. Off to the side were a group of mages from the College, represented chiefly by the professors Harald already knew as well as a group of novices. Harald particularly noted that Dunlain had received his professor robes in a deep purple colour, leaving behind the previous set he wore.

Harald stopped a few feet in front of his crew, and then gave a last tug on the sled, bringing it next to him.

"I am no skald." He told the crowd, though there was actually a plan at the back of his head to become one. Bards tended to be the only people with libraries around Skyrim and Harald wanted a look to see if there was anything about Dragons written down. "So it does not fall to me to tell the saga of our journey to Red Mountain, nor to describe the beast we found there." He glanced back to see the crew had advanced to stand behind him. The Winterholders looked slightly disappointed, but Harald found it hard to care, the only people he cared about remotely in the crowd were behind him, ready to back him up, ready to follow his lead. Winterhold was, much as Harald enjoyed the ale, a means to an end. Something to give him some semblance of legitimacy. Otherwise he would have just descended into a cave somewhere and _Imperio'd_ bandits to make an army. "It is not my place to speak of the deeds of Haestan, or of Sigurd, or of Garth, or of the siblings Aren." He continued, "Nor indeed of my brave crew." In hindsight, though they had been useful, the crew were fairly ineffective. He would have to create a proper strategy for killing Dragons, he would not have people stumbling about his battlefield getting eaten and generally getting in the way.

But now was his favourite part. Harald grinned, taking hold of one part of the cloth covering the skull.

"That being so…I'll let this speak for me!"

* * *

"Jergen."

Harald was standing smugly just on the outskirts of Winterhold, his plan having worked perfectly.

Some Japanese philosopher type that Harald did not remember the name of had once said something to the effect of 'do all the work, then give away most of the credit'. The reasoning behind this statement was that the truth would out and the people who got the credit would refuse it and reflect the glory back on the giver.

Actually, come to think of it, that may not have been the message at all.

Regardless, Harald had sat quietly and allowed the crew to be reunited with their families whilst he quietly slipped away. The story of the journey would no doubt be exaggerated, but that would in turn make the actual tale all the more real for the Nords.

Kjark had ordered a great feast prepared for the warriors, which took several hours which Harald used to his profit. First he went down into the bottom of the College; known as the 'Midden' and under that to his delight he found what appeared to be an altar of some sort. It was an odd construction, an antechamber connected to a larger set of passageways which was itself contained within a large area of icy caves. The altar was circular, with many candle holders but no candles, and had the Daedric symbol 'O' in the centre, the symbol that almost universally represented Daedra as well as the school of Conjuration, standing for the word 'Oblivion' in Daedric. At the front of the altar was a set of burning coals, different colours of flames flickering there like someone had been adding powders like copper to turn the flames green, or salt for blue. Interesting as this was, Harald had no idea what it was supposed to do, and decided to tell the College about it later to see if it could be useful. He was thinking of using it to summon the Dremora he had planned to when discussing the 'Doors to Oblivion' with Arulam, the Conjuration Master.

The real reason he was down there was to lay out Ahbiilok's skeleton and hide and prepare it for storage. Harald had used magic to temporarily expand the cavern to large proportions and then had taken the dragon's body out and set it on the floor, again using magic to cut the skin into sizable proportions and rolled it up. Keeping one portion he cut from that many strips and set a dozen conjured needles and thread to make them into bracelets. Following this he enchanted the bracelets with general Wards to heal and protect, not strong Wards, but the crew would thank him afterwards and be more amenable to outlandish journeys in future. He also pioneered a spell he had thought of while considering magical creatures in general, and hoped that it would work later on.

Whilst the automated tailor was sewing away, Harald crept up to the Arch-Mage's quarters and to his Arcane Enchanter. The lock was very strong on the door, and looked new. If Harald had been a naturally suspicious person, he might have thought this new lock was to keep him out, the Lock spell on the door was certainly new.

The spell may have proved a problem to Harald, had be not been able to phase himself through walls with the Become Ethereal Shout. There he used the Enchanter's energy to reform three blocks of ebony into handles for weapons. Another was a sword, with a roughly artistic dragon head at the base of the blade, the crossguards made of the dragon's wings whist from its open mouth emerged the blade. The other handle was around four feet long and curved as the handle proper changed into the shaft. This was an axe handle, known to many as the 'Bearded Axe'. Finally Harald took one of the larger vertebrae from Ahbiilok's spine and made a mace out of it, sharpening and strengthening all the edges to cut better. To these handles Harald attached sharp shards of Dragonbone, torn from Ahbiilok's skeleton at the tops to form deadly spikes.

Whilst the sword was made from chipping and flattening on of the finger bones, and the axe from a shoulder blade, Harald also noted several other parts of the bone which would make good weapons. Among these there was the femur, which he was considering bribing a giant with. You never knew when you might need a giant on your side.

As Harald did not have a great deal of time he used magic again to firstly sharpen the blades, and then make them unbreakable so they would never chip or blunt as flint weapons would. By the time this was done the enchanted needles had also made scabbards for the swords and a harness for the axe. It was actually quite interesting, as-

"Harald?" asked a female voice from the ebony slate.

Harald glanced down, noting that he really needed to think of a proper name for the slates.

"Yvette." He greeted, "why have you stolen Jergen's slate and why are you naked?"

"The second question answers the first." The Companion replied.

Harald thought. Then shrugged in his tradition movement indicating that he did not particularly care what was going on as long as he got what he wanted done. "Fine." He said, "Go get Gray-Mane."

"He's at the feast." Replied Yvette, cloth rustling from the slate. Harald was not looking at it out of discretion and a slight about of distaste at the immodesty. When he had first heard about the Companions he had imagined them to be different. Grander. They had descended into a band of drunken louts from their previous role as the Five Hundred who had secured Tamriel for Humanity.

"Wonderful." Said Harald dryly back to her eventually, his lip only curling slightly, he held up the Dragonbone axe, "He won't be interested in this then I suppose?"

The statement had the desired effect and Yvette scuttled off with a cover wrapped around her shoulders and returned a short time later with the Companion's resident blacksmith. Meanwhile Harald busied himself layering small enchantments over the weapons, whilst he was less able (though could if he particularly wanted to) perform the more complicated charms, they took time, and were far easier to make using an Enchanter, or the Eye of Magnus. So he routed the power to fuel the spells on the weapons through the wielder, with each hit a portion of the users strength would be stored in the weapon, thus, over time, increasing its potency. It was really rather clever.

"Atmoran!" came a rough shouted voice after a while, "Why is there a naked lady dragging me into her chambers and threatening me with an axe?"

Harald sighed, "Because you're both Companions and you have an unusual attitude to modesty. However," he plunged one of the weapons into a rock up to the hilt, surprisingly easy to do with the sharpening spell he had put on it. "There are more important matters at hand. First, is my sword ready?"

Gray-Mane nodded, pushing hair back from his forehead. "Aye Atmoran, been that way for a while now actually, one part remains unfinished though." He said.

"Which is?"

"The hilt." Replied Gray-Mane, "Or rather, the pommel. I know little of your descent."

"A dragon." Said Harald. It was tradition among Nord nobles to have a hereditary animal to distinguish themselves .This animal was often fashioned on the pommel of swords. In fact, the Haafingar Blade had a wolf's head, because the wolf was the symbol of Solitude. Similarly, the royalty of Windhelm had a bear for a standard.

"You sure about that?" asked the smith in a gravelly voice, Harald only now noticing the slightly slurred voice. "The Empire have a ban on bearing arms with a dragon."

Harald had not known that. He wondered why. Perhaps because it would bring into question the Mede dynasty's claim to the Septim throne. The Dragon was the symbol of Talos, and therefore his mortal family.

"A dragon." He said again.

"If you go near any guards they'll take it off you." Insisted Gray-Mane, fearing for his work of craft.

"Then I will tell them I have a better claim to the throne that Aventus Mede does!" Harald hissed back, "The sword will be ready in one week." Then he closed the connection with a thought. Noting that it was far less satisfying than slamming a phone down, or slamming a door to end a conversation.

Though he had no particular wish to be Emperor of Tamriel, as it would be far too much effort, it was good to use as a threat. After all, the Dragonblood was what had marked the rules of the Empire back since the Alesian Rebellion, and as Mede was just a Colovian warlord who had seized power, he had no real claim to the Ruby throne other than might. If he really needed to justify it Harald would say he was descended from a cadet branch of the Septim dynasty, and use that to get influence.

After that Harald conjured a glass of water, savouring the pure cool taste and then vanishing the goblet. The water would give him no sustenance, vanishing itself in a few minutes, but he felt in need of something to drink as he made his way back to the longhouse.

When he opened the doors he was greeted by a blast of sound, music and heat. Inside was a merry scene, with laughed, large platters of meat, and various other stereotypical things lying about. Two men wrestled on the rushes in the centre, egged on by a crowd.

This all stopped as Harald entered. The music stilled, the wrestlers freezing mid-hold, the laughter stopping. Kjark rose from his tall seat at the end of the hall.

"Hail Dragonborn!" he shouted, raising a curved horn artfully decorated with silver.

At that the building burst again into life, Harald's name was chanted, his exploits extolled and his deeds praised. This time there was reverence mixed in with wonder, a channel forming as Harald walked, arms outstretched, salutes coming from soldiers to him.

A place had been left for Harald at the Jarl's right hand, a significant political statement if anyone had been sober enough to have considered it, and he took the seat, being passed salt and bread to formally accept the hospitality of the Jarl. Whilst Harald ate the bards started up again, playing quietly, knowing Harald would do something soon and wanting to be ready. Behind him Garth was standing with a cloak draped over his silver arm, as Harald had instructed, amusingly however, a small child was standing beside Garth, oversized helmet on head and an axe clutched in his hands.

"You son?" asked Harald, smiling.

"Yes Lord." Replied Garth, pushing the small boy forward to be presented.

Harald cocked his head to the side, "Your father helped me kill a dragon." He said seriously, "Be proud of him." Garth beamed and patted his son on the shoulder, the boy too shy to speak to Harald, in turn, Harald smiled again at the boy and went back to his bread, breaking off small pieces of it and dabbing them in the salt before tasting them. It was a very dense bread, well suited for long journeys at sea, or indeed, ballast. However, it was excellent all the same, with small dark specks dotting the loaf, Harald would have thought them olives if not for the taste, which was like cooked fruit. He suspected Snowberries. A most versatile fruit all considered.

Looking around the room there seemed to be a slight mist hanging about the men. Looking deeper and feeling the Ring on his finger suddenly he saw the mist to be the spirits of ages, thousands of them pressed around the men, drawn to the merriment. Some were old warriors, standing proudly at the shoulders of their sons and daughters; others were the dead of Winterhold, many of them showing injuries from crushing. Most likely from the Great Collapse. Standing just before the head table was a tall man with a mane of hair kept back by a horned helmet. Harald quirked an eyebrow at him, questioning the spirit without speaking about its purpose. In return he received the spirits gesture to its mouth, then a swept arm to the assembly, indicating its desire to speak. Harald nodded and the spirit walked to the side.

Kjark leaned over to Harald, offing him a handful of peas. Harald declined, having noticed that the hand Kjark used to eat with was the same he used to pet his hounds which basked under the table and fed on scraps.

"Who were you nodding to?" the Jarl asked.

Harald pointed over to the supplicant, "There was a spirit there who wanted to speak."

Kjark looked at him suspiciously, "You can see spirits?" he asked.

"I can see yours." Said Harald, "As well as another standing behind you." He nodded to a taller Nord a few feet away, "Tall man, bears an axe at his belt, missing his left hand and his right eye."

Kjark was astonished, "My father!" he exclaimed, looking around for the apparition.

Harald motioned with his hand and made Kjark's father visible to the son. There was a slight look of distaste on the father's face, but the spirit nodded stiffly to Kjark, then faded away.

Harald suddenly realised that he should probably stop telling people about there being spirits, given that not everyone got along with their parents it might bring up bad memories.

While Kjark sat back in contemplation, Harald motioned with his hand.

"My Lord?" asked the voice of Garth behind him.

Harald silently congratulated his Thane for his promptness, and inclined his head toward Garth, "How much of the story has been told?" he asked, wanting to know where he stood.

"Virtually all of it," replied Garth, "Some didn't believe it, particularly about my arm."

As Harald frowned, Vilof suddenly brust in, ducking under Garth's arm and "Did you really give father back an arm?" he asked excitedly.

"Quiet boy!" Garth said, trying to push his son's head away, "Don't trouble the Thane."

"Wait." Harald said, looking down at Vilof. "I did, but we can't tell anyone about it yet, that will come later."

"My Lord?" asked Garth, one hand restraining his son.

Harald grinned as he had when he revealed Ahbiilok's skull, and then stood up, halting the soft music and talk that had been going on.

"My friends!" he said loudly, his voice filling the hall. "You have now heard of the battle with the Dragon of Red Mountain, but I have yet to reward the bravery my crew have shown."

Mutters of approval from the Winterholders, but expectant silence from the crew greeted this.

"Let my crew assemble before the table." Harald commanded, walking up and over the table and on the other side. Sigurd also got up from the other side of Kjark and walked around the other side, while Garth took place on Harald's right, a few steps down from the raised dais the top table was on.

"Many of you received injury." Harald continued, "Both great and minor, and I would prevent this in future," he held up the Dragonskin bracelets, "Here for each of you, is part of the hide of Ahbiilok, let it protect you as it did him, for I have enchanted them with spells of Warding and Healing."

As he passed them out Harald noted that he had unconsciously slipped into prose. It amused him, and he smiled as he distributed the gifts, afterwards stepping back to his higher perch on a few steps. The men put on their bracelets, each glowing as it was put on. It may have been simply because of their exposure to him, but Harald thought that they seemed far more trusting of magic than Nords would normally be.

"Place the dragon scale I gave each of you on the bracelet, and it will strengthen enchantment." Harald finally said, waving a hand. This was a rather clever little spell if he didn't say so himself. He had adapted the idea from the Goblins of Gringotts, Goblin steel was famous for taking on the qualities of substances it came into contact with, for instance, Gryffindoor's sword was imbue with basilisk poison, because it had killed a basilisk. Considering this, Harald had wanted to try the same with armour. In this case, because the bracelets were only a very strong leather, they would give the user some of the tenacity that metal held, if hit with a piece of metal, such as a sword. Therefore, when the men touched the scales to the bracelets, the ornaments would imbue the user with some of the strength of dragon scales, which were indeed very strong.

"Now that that is done, let my Steersman, Haestan, my Thane Garth, and my friend Sigurd step forward to receive their names."

The men did so, Haestan and Sigurd looking puzzled but ecstatic, and Garth smiling over Harald's shoulder to his son.

Names were important in Nordic culture. A name defined a person. While there would certainly be other Haralds in Skyrim, as well as other root Scandinavian names, second names were rare things bestowed on people for particularly great deeds. For instance, Hoag Merkiller got his name because he killed lots of elves. Names were a promise, and in some cases, immediately identified you to strangers. Olaf Gray-Mane would find a job smiting anywhere in the Empire because of his 'credentials', or the Battle-Borns would be easily known to anyone with the slightest understanding of business and trade. Thus, a second name said not only who you were, but what you could do.

"When we landed in Gnisis." Said Harald to the assembly, "We took up shields and swords to face the Great Beast. His wings darkened the sky, swirling aside the ash that poured from Red Mountain. His claws were like the Headsman's axe, and his teeth like white knives. But it was his fiery breathe was his greatest weapon."

Harald went to Garth, pulling him up the steps, still speaking about Ahbiilok's terrible fire, "The brave Garth, son of Olendan, stood against the Dragon, but when he raised his shield to ward of the fire, the very metal melted on his arm." Harald had no idea if this was true, but it sounded good, and made for a better story this way "Then the Dragon bore down on him, roaring and raging, and with one stamp of its thick leg, Garth's own limb was crushed."

"He's standing up though!" yelled one observant fellow from the back.

"Indeed he is!" shouted Harald back, "Because I gave it back to him!"

"Throw back your cloak." Harald then whispered to Garth.

The silver came out, shining, tiny ripples and miasmas of light danced across it, Garth held it up for all to see and there was general astonishment from those who had not seen it before.

"Crush your sword with it." Harald instructed him.

Garth took the blade of the sword, straight edged, with no fullers, and squeezed. When he had finished he held it up again, the metal mangled and bent.

"And now, because your sword is broken." Said Harald, "Take this one." And held out the dragonbone sword, maw wide and wings outstretched.

Moving swiftly on, Harald raised his voice again, "But Garth Silverhand's distraction and loss was only the start of our plan. Great nets were thrown down on the Dragon, trapping his wings, and valiant Nords jumped down on it from above."

Haestan, knowing where this was going, stepped forward and bowed, ready to receive his weapon.

"Haestan the Dragonaxe!" Bellowed Harald, drawing the crowd's attention away from Garth and the silvery limb to him. "He stood tall on Ahbiilok's back and hacked away, but his weapon was of a mere metal, and blunted and useless after the assault, this will help him!"

Harald passed the battleaxe into Haestan's hands, and when the steersman put the butt on the floor it was almost as tall as him, the spike at the top reaching to his shoulder.

Haestan turned about him for something to chop with the new weapon, alighting on one of the tables. The furniture of the hall was similar to its construction, for the most part, undressed timbers, roughly sawn and nailed together. The blow from Haestan cleaved the large table in two, scattering empty platters and spilling mead. There was a brief moment of silence in which everyone stared in wonder at how a man had just cut several oak planks in half in a single strike, and there a great roar of laugher and cheering.

Harald let it go on for a while, giving Haestan the harness and Garth his scabbard. Then he looked at Sigurd.

"I too jumped for the Dragon, and perched on his head I took one of his red eyes with my sword." He declared, tapping the hilt at his hip, "But with the violence of the beast's thrashing, I was thrown off." The silence regained, each Nord in the hall waiting with bated breath. "I lay in the ash, dazed, my arm numb from the landing and my sword had fallen from my hand. I looked up, beholding the great black beast rearing, ready to swallow me whole!" Harald paused for effect, "But then, Sigurd the Unyielding leapt in front of it, standing with strong spear against the darkness!"

Sigurd the Unyielding grinned happily at his new name.

"He plunged his spear into the beast's chest, the head piercing the shoulder and driving the dragon back." The Nords cheered, "And for that, let him wield this in battle hence forth in my name." Harald said, bringing out the last weapon.

What was effectively a spikey club on a stick was handed over, and Sigurd took care not to cut himself on the wicked shards of bone stuck to the vertebrae.

"Here we have our heroes." Said Harald finally, "Garth Silverhand, Haestan the Dragonaxe, Sigurd the Unyielding."

The Nords cheered at them, but Harald raised his hands again. "Be seated." He told the crew, and they sat. "Not only mortals do we have in this hall tonight." He said, twisting the Ring on his finger three times, "But the spirits of the past have come to be warm by the fires." He seized a horn of mead, raising it to a seemingly empty patch of air. "Hail the victorious dead!"

"And Hail to thee Dragonborn." Replied the shade in the horned helmet, fading into view, drawing an old Atmoran pattern sword from a sheath at his side and saluting Harald with it.

Immediately around the spirit the Nords scrambled away, shouting startled oaths at the manifestation. However, Harald's calm demeanour reflected on them, and they soon retook their seats.

"I am Yngol. Eldest son of Ysgramor and Captain of the Harakk." The Atmoran explained, his accent strange and distinct from the more cosmopolitan Nordic one. "My Lord Father bids you greetings from the Hall of Valour, where he sits at the right hand of Shor."

Harald was slightly worried that Ysgramor might be annoyed about him pretending to be an Atmoran, but replied as best he could. "And let my respectful greetings go back to Ysgramor, Harbinger of the Five Hundred."

"Ysgramor bears great hope for you." Continued Yngol, "You are confirmed as the legacy of Atmora."

_Ah._ Thought Harald. _Forgiven then._

"You bear the mark of Destiny." Said Yngol, "And any true Nord will follow you. I wish you fortune in Saarthal. I did not reach the shores of Mereth, dying in battle against Sea-ghosts."

"I thank you." Replied Harald, seeing Yngol wanted confirmation before he continued.

"Yet before I depart, I would ask a boon."

Harald briefly had to remember what a 'boon' was, for some reason thinking the spar at the bottom edge of a sail. "Any boon I can grant is yours Companion." He eventually said.

"Destroy my mortal form." Said the Atmoran. "It lies in my barrow at the mouth of Karth River, set me upon a boat, facing my homeland, then burn the ship, and let my ashes free on a strong north wind."

"Are the Draugr not sacred?" asked Harald, wondering where the custom of burying the dead in barrows had come from anyway.

"Only to the Dragon Cult, who betrayed Mankind." Replied Yngol.

"Then I will release your mortal form." Replied Harald, bowing slightly to show his respect. Or rather, to show that he was paying respect for the Nords around them.

After Yngol had faded away the other spirits started to as well, and Harald felt the cold band around his finger melt away.

"I wonder if we shall be visited by any other ancient heroes tonight?" he asked the room at large, provoking soft laughs as the party started to die down.

"You missed one," said a voice from the side, Harald turned to see Sigurd, one foot mounting the bottom step, looking up at Harald. "A hero, the greatest hero amongst us now." The Nord said.

_Finally._ Thought Harald, having been waiting for someone to say that. Obviously he couldn't declare himself to be the sole heroic figure, so relied on someone else to do it for him.

"Yes." agreed Kjark from behind them, voice slurring ever so slightly from the mead. "Dragonslayer, Companion, Spriti-Seer. Choose your own name Harald." He said, giving a great nod, shaggy beard bobbing.

"Choose! Choose! Choose!" was chanted from the crowd.

Harald restrained a sigh. Though theatrics could be very enjoyable sometimes, the Nords were so easy to play there was no challenge. He longed for a room of politicians to trick. Well, at least he knew that his next trip would be to Eastmarch, he was planning on there anyway, after visiting Saarthal.

"I have a name." he said loudly after a while above the tumult, "One the Greybeards have given me."

The mention of the monastic order gave the Nords space for thought, waiting for him to speak.

"Harald Stormcrown. I am Ysmir, the Dragon of the North. Hearken to it."


	23. Return to Saarthal

_AwesomePossum15: Yes, it is rather grating isn't it? Especially when someone like Tolfdir is lecturing._

_jhautefaye: Corrected, thanks for telling me_

_nim istar: DB will be appearing, haven't yet because no one dislikes him enough to do the ritual to call them yet._

_Anuraten/Selias/ Nargus__: This is a case of Nordic mythology being awkward. Hjalti Early-Beard was indeed the first 'Storm Crown' (which is English for 'Talos') so yes Harald is claiming the title. The Greybeards greet you as Stormcrown after you get the final word of Unrelenting Force from them. He's also Ysmir (Nordic for Dragon of the North) though, which is a title which several people (again including Talos) have had. He's basically just declaring himself formally. He's the Dragonborn we play in Skyrim._

_Sorrowful Stone: Nope, Thane. Thane is a rank that can be conferred, whereas Housecarl is a position as a bodyguard to said Thane. I got the oath from some history website about Vikings. So Harald's Thane of Winterhold, while Garth is sworn to his service. Garth being the only Thane sworn to him at the moment means that he technically *is* Harald's housecarl, but that's only because of lack of other candidates._

_Nix's Warden: I can see no real reason you shouldn't be able to become Emperor in the game. If you complete all the faction quests you hold a ridiculous amount of influence in Skyrim, and with the actual Emperor dead from the DB quests, there's a power vacuum._

_Bogus1: I really have no idea what you're trying to say, despite your profile page stating that you in fact 'DO' know what you're talking about. Anyway, just like some random guy who asked me for directions in Berlin, I'm going to ignore you. Gratz on being the first person I've blocked _

_In other news, Miirak was boring. Just finished the Dragonborn DLC (main quest anyway) and I found it far too small. I ran across Solstheim in about five minutes. Dragon riding was useless, can you actually fly the dragon? No, you just sit on it and act as spotter. Other comments? Well basically it was alright, if easy. I can imagine Miirak standing there once he's met you for the first time being all 'bugger, I forgot that I left those books full on ancient knowledge dotted about the place, perhaps I should do something about that? Actually, no, its fine.' *cue me swinging merrily away at him with Wuuthrad*_

_On another note: I love how snarky the Fanfic rules are._

* * *

"Man in his throne." Murmured Harald, settling into the stone seat. "As should be."

He extended a tendril of magic, pulling the far lever in the middle of the room. There was a grinding sound and the gate retracted into the ceiling. Harald batted away one of the curious balls of light and made his way further into the tomb.

Even though he could have easily bypassed the gate, either with force or through magic, he had passed every puzzle through intelligence. It simply seemed the right thing to do, and as he was in no rush, he wandered about the chamber reading the various carvings. Once he had done this the puzzle fell into place, the whale carving in the deluge of water, the snake in the grassy alcove and the eagle under a hole leading up.

Harald noted as he progressed that though there were many of the small bouncing blue balls, there were few Draugr. He had encountered only one so far, which he decapitated before it could notice him. The barrow itself was also strange. According to Yngol the only thing buried there was the Companion himself, there was no Word Wall, no secret treasure, just a dry old body. Certainly an Atmoran of high status would be buried in an elaborate tomb, but why then was it open to the world? Why the extensive traps and puzzles? Why not simply seal it up have the stones at the entrance telling who lay in it?

Harald was also unsure of why Yngol's body was a Draugr anyway. To his understanding the Draugr were only 'deployed' to guard the secrets and the powerful servants of the Dragons, such as the Dragon Priests or the Word Walls. Certainly this meant that they acted as guards, but if the Yngol Barrow had no Priest (which Harald knew as the Song was only a whisper in his ears) why should there be Draugr?

Harald tried various combinations to the Claw Door, using the Ivory Dragon Claw from Folgunthur, which appeared to be the same shape as the three key holes they had found on the pedestal in Haafingar. The door was easy to solve, given that there were only twenty seven permutations, and Harald quickly worked through it. Even someone with limited intelligence, such as the average Nord cave delver, or other sorts who might visit, would be able to solve it. Harald suspected the lock was more to keep in the Draugr than to keep out visitors. The Draugr were undead, and therefore relied on commands from the Priests. This in turn meant that while the Priests slept the Draugr were without command, and tended to shamble about patrolling endlessly. It was a wonder their shrouds and bindings had not worn out in thousands of years if use.

Another strange question was that if the ancient Nords had rebelled against the Dragons in the Merethic Era, why had they not hunted down and destroyed the remnants of their enemy? Even the Argonians had done better, launching an offensive into Morrowind in the early years of the Fourth Era, the so called 'Ascension War'. The aim of the lizard-men was to destroy their hated enslavers after long years of raids into Black Marsh. The Dunmer, particularly House Telvanni, had suffered greatly in the war, with the entire power balance in Morrowind shifting from House Hlaalu to House Redoran, seen as the saviours of the Dunmer because of their warrior tradition. It seemed odd to Harald that the Nords just left strongholds of potential enemies dotted about the land.

Harald walked along an icy passageway, unheeding of the Darugr sentry standing in the doorway. He had been practicing his Illusion magic, and having applied spells of Invisibility and Muffling, he walked right past the Draugr. He could of course have used his own Magic, Disillusionment and Silencing Charms would have done the same, but Harald wanted to get more practiced to Aetherian magic. Just like his Warding, he would be able to combine the two into a more powerful whole.

Eventually Harald came to a larger chamber. Directly ahead was a desiccated figure slumped in a throne, and had the horned helm Yngol's ghost had worn perched on his head, eyes unsettlingly without lids burning with a blue glow. Harald conjured the same spear he had used against the Troll on his way up to High Hrothgar, sending it flying toward Yngol's body with a burst of telekinesis.

The spear flew the length of the chamber, a soft _whoosh_ from the displaced air the only sound heard until a dry crunch of bone and metal caving under the tip. The blue eyes flared once more and the head slumped forward, helmet clanging on the spear embedded in the Draugr's chest.

Harald walked forward, making sure Yngol was dead. As he walked what was presumably the crew of Yngol's ship, the _Harakk_, woke from their long sleep, emerging out of black metal sarcophagi. The Draugr stayed still, awakened by sensing no threat because of Harald's spells.

As Harald drew close to one the Draugr fell to its knees. Wary of some attack, Harald conjured another spear, but did not cast it yet, looking down at the kneeling Draugr.

"_Dov-rha." _

The rest of the Draugr clattered to their knees along with the first, chanting in time with each other, a rattling breath coming after each saying of the word.

"_Dov-rha, Dov-rha, Dov-rha."_

Seeing his deception to be useless and being satisfied that the Draugr would not attack him, Harald dispelled his spells and stepped out to the kneeling undead.

"_Dov-rha!"_ The Draugr called as one, lowing more into a prostration before Harald, foreheads to the stone floor.

Harald felt as much as saw, a dim stream of energy rushing toward him, a single stream from each of the Draugr, it was similar in part to that of a Dragon's Soul, but infinitely smaller and weaker. He thought he could detect the hint of the Thu'um from the worshiper's voices, melding in an unfamiliar Song, like, but unlike the Song of the Dragonborn.

"_Slaad."_ Harald commanded, telling them to stop, then "_Ulass."_ The order to stand. The Draugr did so, the pitiful stream of energy ceasing and the unfamiliar chant stopping.

"_Zu'u Dovahkiin_." Harald continued, "_Kriid se Zahkriisos ahrk Ahbiilok_."

"_Dovahkiin."_ Whispered the Draugr, eerily speaking at the same time as if they were controlled by the same intelligence.

Harald pieced together this new puzzle. He concluded that undoubtedly the Draugr, who for millennia had worshiped the Dragons and their Priests, though he was one of the two. Given the unique nature of the Voice as 'Divine Magic' given by Kyne, and the even more portentous nature of his Dragon Blood, apparently bestowed by Akatosh, he probably seemed like a Dragon, or at least, a Dragon Priest to the Draugr.

"Pick him up." Harald said, lapsing back into Nordic, pointing imperiously at the Yngol's body. The Draugr did so, and Harald walked out the back of the barrow. He had noticed that the barrows tended to have two entrances, the first was full of traps and other nasty obstacles, however, the second was usually incredibly hard to find, but led out almost to the first entrance, or somewhere else to the outside.

As Harald led the party of Draugr along the beach, he considered matters Draconic. He had not expected something like this to happen, however, upon thought, it was actually fairly logical. He was a dragon in spirit, therefore creatures like Draugr would identify him as such. He also found he had to make a conscious effort not to speak in the Dragon tongue, as he had when conversing with Vulindinok.

Harald stopped when he rounded a corner and planted his hands on his hips.

"You should really be used to this by now." He told the stunned crew of the _Frydraca_.

"I assume you know you have a large party of Draugr behind you?" asked Savos, the only one without a weapon out.

"In fact I had not perceived them." Replied Harald sardonically, looking behind him and miming great surprise "They are such quiet creatures, just like little mice."

"No need to be rude."

"If you ask something idiotic like that there is." Replied Harald pointedly, ordering the Draugr to load Yngol onto an old longship he had purchased in Windhelm. He watched them work, jerking movements telegraphed, rattling breath from old dry lungs.

"Bring the pitch and wood." Ordered Harald, still on the beach. He then levitated the combustibles over to the new _Harakk_, the name of Yngol's original ship.

"What will you do with the Draugr?" asked Siva jumping down from the beached dromond, robes flapping in a slight wind.

Harald stroked his chin, "Well," he said, turning the Ring three times about his finger. "I'll ask them shall I?"

Shades materialised, having been tugging at Harald, seeking an audience.

"Honoured dead." Harald said, "What would you have me do?"

Yngol, easily recognisable by his horned helm, came forward. "Mine men have decided that they will return to Sovngarde, hallowed hall." He explained, strange accent pronounced in the speech "They will burn with me as honour guard."

_Fair enough. _Thought Harald and nodded to Yngol, who began to drift out along the beach, he then ordered the rest of the Draugr onto the boat, not having any other use for them himself, given that civilisation was miles away and they would face various dangers along the way, he could not take them home with him.

Once the Draugr were aboard, Harald climbed onto his _Frydraca_. Attaching a long rope to the prow of the other ship they towed it out to sea. The rope was then cut. The sky was clear with few clouds, only wisps of white covering the blue sky. _Harakk_ drifted out, new sail filled with a gentle wind, pushing toward the north and Atmora.

Harald held out his hand and felt a wooden handle be put into it. He brought an arrow to the bow, drawing the string back to his ear and sighting on the departing ship, then he raised the bow and loosed. A soft whisper as the feather was released and a dull slapping noise as the string hit his wrist.

The arrow, its tip aflame, arced out over the water, streaking across the waves. It smote down in the centre of the longship, tip hitting somewhere to the right of Yngol's body. Flames leapt up, catching quickly in the whale oil spread around the ship.

One of the crew began to chant a dirge to the fallen, words rolling off the tongue, reflecting the sadness of the death but also the promise of eternal life in Sovngarde.

Harald found the whole thing rather boring and pointless, being as intimately aware of death as he was; he failed to see the reason for the ceremony. However, then his humanity reasserted itself and he bowed his head in respect. Not everyone could see spirits, so he would give the Nords what closure he could.

Though he was grateful to Yngol for appearing to him and increasing his reputation in the eyes of the Nords, he was also annoyed. It was another day lost while they sailed down to Windhelm, then a day searching for the barrow, then a day getting Yngol out of it, and they would most likely take another two days to get back to Winterhold after that. The only surprising thing that had come up was his ability to control Draugr, provided he knocked out the senior one. That could be useful back at Saarthal, as he was planning to put the ancient tomb guards to work renovating the old city.

Seen only to him the shades of the Draugr swooped away, Harald thought he saw the doors of a great hall standing across the sea, a bridge and welcoming song for the returning heroes. He felt a whisper in his mind.

_Dragonborn, the men of the Harakk will stand with you when you call._

Harald raised a hand as he saw the phantoms depart, the doors of the mead hall wide open, sailors received with open arms by their long departed comrades.

As the tall mast from the longship cracked and creaked, flames popping little pockets of water in the wood, the whole structure crumbled, slowly burning down and sinking beneath the waves. The final flames went out in a hiss.

"Set course for home." Harald ordered, watching the timbers go out of sight below grey waters.

* * *

Harald strode through Saarthal's corridors, seeing if the Aetherian Paralyse spell was more effective than his Wizarding one. Through the last hundred or so Draugr he had come across he inevitably ducked under their attacks and tapped them on the shoulder, applying the spells.

So far the P_etrificus Totalus_ was better for the more powerful Wights and Deathlords, while the Paralyse was effective on the less powerful undead. The Illusion spell was also far more comical to use, it froze the target in place, but did so by the nervous system, preserving the shape they had been in before. This caused some most amusing falls, the eyes of the Draugr blazing with supressed anger and Harald gently pushed them over. The '_Totalus_ on the other hand operated on Wizarding magic, the peculiar sort which seemed to apply a sort of energy to force the target into a position with limbs and spine straight.

Harald came to another large chamber; he summoned a light to his hand, steadily increasing the brightness until he could see the end of the chamber. Or rather, he tried to. This new chamber was enormous, soaring buttresses holding up a high roof that must have reached at least a hundred metres into the air. With his other hand Harald sent out a dozen Magelights, their bright trails flying across the darkness like fireflies. They travelled for several seconds, then two faded out, but one, catching on a tall but indistinct stone structure, stayed in place.

Feeling he should adequately prepare before exploring this chamber further, Harald turned, walking back in an anti-clockwise direction around the circular pathway that went around the Eye of Magnus. Harlad did not think this to be deliberate, as the Eye had clearly been moved from somewhere to its current resting place, it seemed to him that the ancient Atmorans had come upon it by accident, perhaps excavating a new chamber in the mountains.

Regardless, it was a most logical set up; similar in structure to some of the American cities he had visited, but rather relying on circles than squares and blocks. This tended to be the way with new cities, the planners ordered suburbs to be built in bulk, rather than allowing the town to grow in a more organic fashion, as London had, with new districts and new architecture coming in, houses build on hundreds of years of old foundations.

The iron doors to the central chamber flew open in advance of the Wizard's footsteps, his boots scuffing as they found grip on dry stone. The city was indeed surprisingly dry for a subterranean structure. Harald was thankful for this, he had never enjoyed damp.

Harald strode up to the last 'living' Gauldurson. He had wondered why the Draugr of Saarthal had not been attacking him until he disturbed them, but assumed it was because he had somehow tricked them into thinking he _was_ Jyrik Gauldurson. Harald's body was constructed from a cell of Jyrik's, so he might appear to be the same.

Much as he may have wanted to preserve such an obviously powerful Draugr commander, the final Gauldurson had to be destroyed. Draugr such as he acted as synapse creatures, directing the hive mind of the Draugr. Usually this would be a Dragon Priest or Deathlord, though there were cases where they may have been several Deathlords, or in fact none.

Luckily for Harald, Saarthal was a very old, and a very important city. This meant that there were huge necropoleis of Draugr, hundreds upon hundreds of coffins for the less highly placed in Atmoran society, then hundreds more elaborate sarcophagi, Wights, Scourges and Deathlords inhabiting them.

Harald had begun to term the different Draugr types as he went. The most common Draugr was usually armed with a simple iron sword, and tended not to wake unless their sleep was seriously disturbed. These were unarmoured, and the sword most likely ceremonial, a burial gift to the dead.

The second most common were the Restless Draugr, who had taken up the duties of guarding the tomb city, walking the halls in silence. Some of the Restless were more heavily armed and some used low-level Destruction spells in battle. They were quite sneaky for dead bodies, hiding behind false walls or feigning sleep in open coffins, ready to spring arthritically out on the unobservant.

The next class were the Scourges and Wights. These were heavily armoured and used more powerful weapons or spells respectively. Scourges tended to be slightly more powerful, but Harald put this down to them taking advantage of the immense strength bestowed on even the lowest Draugr, and their use of it in battle. The Scourges would have been the Atmoran and Nordic heavy infantry, the mainstay of the armies. They were supported by the Wights, who tended to stay back; sending Frost spells at the intruder, the mages and conjurers. Both types were often accompanied by other 'lesser' Draugr, and served as the secondary leaders.

The Primary leader was the Draugr Overlord, these were the second most powerful, and co-ordinated the attacks, no doubt the remains of Nordic Jarls of Chiefs. While the Scourges and Wights would command tactics, the Overlords would command strategy.

Finally there were the Deathlords. The strongest Draugr, they were almost universally equipped with ebony weapons, and whilst most Draugr up from Scourge level could use the Voice, the Deathlords applied it most effectively. These were the champions, the heroes of Atmora, the men seen at the front of battle, first to die, but first to be welcomed to Sovngarde. Deathlords were marked out by their tall horned helmets, and tended to be larger than their brethren.

It also stood to reason that there were unique variants of the Draugr, rather than these broad categories. For instance, a very powerful Wights, equivalent to an undead Arch-Mage, might be termed a 'Wight Lord'. Similarly, some of the most famous Jarls and Kings in SKyrim's history had been incredible warriors, and if Harald ever met one he would term them a 'Death Overlord'. And then run away, laying down runes as magic mines as he went.

As Draugr got more powerful they became more intelligent. As such, Gaulderson, who was very powerful, as recoded in _Lost Legends_, would have been quite difficult for Harald to have defeated, one on one, if Harald had not removed his head before he could stand.

After he had done that, the Draugr in the room awakened, stepping out of standing coffins or levering themselves out of sarcophagi. They did not attack, only starting forward, weapons held but their burning eyes looking incongruously curious for all the hate they showed. One soon fell to its knees, repeating 'Dov-rha' over and over.

Harald cast a _Sonorus, _not wanting to have to do it all over the city. He again introduced himself as 'Dragonborn, Slayer of Zahkriisos and Ahbiilok', and once again the rest of the Draugr bowed and began the second chant. This time Harald listened to the words, translating them as they were spoken.

"_Grave Guard, Humble Servant, Hearken Command, Terrible Hunter."_

Listening again to be sure, Harald thought he understood. The Dragur, the 'Grave Guard' were his humble servants, and they would listen to his orders because he was a 'Terrible Hunter'.

As he thought the strange streams of energy began to come from the Draugr who had first knelt to him, a Scourge by the large axe on his back. Just like in Yngol's barrow this stream was like to that of Ahbiilok's but less so. However, as the chant asking for orders continued, Harald felt other streams drawing in, washing like rivers through the stonework. The stream built into a river of power, a torrent even, the first Scourge's golden ribbon joined by a thousand others, crashing with terrible force against Harald's _Dovah Sil_. There seemed to be a charge building in the air, like the beginning of a storm, and Harald's throat tightened, the Song building in his ears.

"_Slaad_!" the Dragonborn finally Shouted, his Voice propelling the sound far father and louder than a _Sonorus_ ever could.

The streams were cut off, and the Draugr stood.

"Cleanse Saarthal." Harald told them, sinking into Jyrik's old throne, "Purge all animals, and bring any Mer or Men alive before me."

With a 'Dovahkiin', the Draugr stumped away, taking several different doors out of the chamber, Deathlords and Scourges at the front, Wights behind them with an Overlord to each group. Harald meanwhile sat in silence, his head toward the slowly rotating Eye, but his eyes unfocused.

"So that's why the Priests had their followers buried with them." The Wizard said finally.

The Atmorans, even after the Dragon War had still buried their dead in the traditional fashion, entombing them in sarcophagi. What had puzzled him since Yngol's barrow was now revealed. Given the respect Nords had for the dead, it was only logical that they would simply not go into the barrows, and Harald had not yet seen a Draugr outside. Like any undead they were shackled to their controller, or, failing that, a passing Necromancer who needed an army.

The Priests had been driven out of Saarthal, but the burial method remained. Ysgramor and his Companions had spread it through the provinces, across Skyrim, Solstheim, Morrowind and the Northern Cyrodiilic regions.

But the purpose of the Draugr had been gloriously subverted. The Priests drew strength from their undead servants, that was the stream of energy, the stream allowed powerful individuals like the Dragon Priests to reach immortality. Worshipers would rise and pay homage, giving a little of themselves to preserve their dark masters. They probably did this in shifts, otherwise the thousands of dead in a single ruin would kill a mortal like the Dragon Priests.

Not a Dragon though. Nor a Dragonborn. Harald just had an immense headache, and took a long draught from a waterskin to try and cure it.

To have something to concentrate on he drew out the journal he had started to chronicle his efforts. The book would be first to serve as a hedge against forgetfulness, but also to help anyone he needed to educate. He would probably bring the Aren's in on it at some point, and he did not wish to spend hours explaining everything when he could just give them a book.

Uncorking an inkwell and cursing the lack of biros in Mundus, Harald started writing. It was quite familiar actually, writing with quill and ink, it took him back to Hogwarts. Annoying all the same though.

_Mem: Give Draugr commands before 'stream' begins._ He wrote, _Energy from them means they can do less work, less work = unproductive. _

Harald noted down a few more things, finishing his classification of Draugr and drawing out another part of the Marauder's Map Mk.2 he had been cartographing. Replicating the enchantment on the original Harald had resurrected the old object because of its immense usefulness. So far only a portion of it was done and there were no small ink footprints to show the inhabitants. For that he would have to find a mason to carve him some Wardstones to layer the enchantments on.

Finishing the far wall on the enormous chamber he had found, Harald set the map down and turned to his _To Do_ _List._ A single page in a separate book that would be his objectives for the new base.

_Workbook 2  
Harald Dragonborn_

_To Do_

_Get sword from Gray-Mane._

_Get proper armour – Note, investigate strength of Dragonscale/possibility of working with bone._

_Think of name for sword._

_Go to Solitude, get money from ebony sale, visit Istlod, buy supplies - building materials ect. _

_Find sustainable source of income._

_Use E of M to build metal synthesisers – then start making other capital equipment for industry._

_Make/Perm. Conjure/Transmute/Acquire Capital – Gold ect._

_Find and investigate a __Dwarven__ Dwemer city – they operate on system of audio tech (Kagrenac's title – 'Chief _Tonal_ Architect' – Must find recorder, writing takes too long)_

_Think of better surname_

_Transport! Build landspeeder or something- use Banisher runes for flight. Longboat too slow._

_Mem. 2 – Graphene body armour? Will require 6 to be complete._

_Organise Draugr – take census_

Harald sat back. He could think of nothing more at the moment. He cracked his fingers.

"Let's get to work."


	24. Swaraj Doctrine

_What's up with Fanfic not copying my formatting onto the actual story eh? C'mon Fanfic, sort it out._

_Anyway: Answers to reviews! Not entirely sure if I'm supposed to answer them in PMs, or in the AN, or where, but someone tells me not to I'll answer them here. _

_Trent: given that he didn't even have a body when he arrived, that's doubtful_

_Vibrolux61: Don't think 'landspeeder' as in Star Wars, think 'landspeeder' as in 'Firebolt' – Landspeeder just sounds so much better than 'broomstick'. He's going to get the apparition working at some point, so he could use that, but Harry says in cannon that he prefers flying. _

_On the subject of flying, he cant actually fly, its like a wingsuit, good for gliding, but unless you get a magic wind to push you forward, doesn't work for distance or unless you happen to be up a mountain anyway. _

_The machinery wont be a big part, it's just to make particular items quickly, like how you can use a rock to hammer a nail in, but it's just much easier to make a hammer. Besides, why make gunpowder when fireballs are much better? Magic tends to make technology fairly redundant, that's why all the games/films with magic never have science. He wont be 'industrialising' per se, the problem with making guns is that the other side eventually gets them, leading to an arms race which means you have to constantly innovate._

_Dwarf stuff: the fighting automatons arnt very effective no, but the concept could be improved upon, and it will, however, Harald wont suddenly be fielding armies of Dwemer against his enemies. _

_Occlumency doesn't make your brain any better, that's something fanfic writers have invented, it just means you can read people's minds and protect your own mind from being read, its like discipline, but of a mental sort, it doesn't actually add anything. Likewise, his brain isn't superhuman. Einstein apparently had 'denser greymatter' or something, that meant that he was more inclined to be intelligent, but I'm sure he forgot stuff all the time. _

_The to-do list (listen up Snirk) wasn't for him to remember, it was just a 'I'm sure I had something to do today, ill check' thing, and yea, it was lazy, but I didn't want to have to write 4k words on it, I really want to get on with the story (particularly since we have like 60 years till the Great War, and like 80 till the game itself).The list was also to get a response from the readers, like what they thought about it, I now have that response, thanks guys._

_Nords do Honour, not honesty, if the SS came to your house and asked you if you had Jews in the basement what would you tell them? If you're 'honest' that family gets killed, ergo, you lie, preserving life. Honour tends toward Honesty anyway, but its not necessarily the same thing. Besides, none of the lies have really been for a malicious purpose; they're mostly to smooth the transition or to just get something done more easily. _

_Anyway, thanks of the review. _

_Jmg94: Might have some random additional Dragonborn show up later at the Cloud Ruler Temple and be all 'I am here to kill dragons' and a passing Blade tell them to go away, as they already did that. Probably wont, might make it an omake. _

_RoyalTwinFangs: Cool pen name, and yea, going to be making armour and other stuff, getlostD91 sent be a rather good PM which got the purpose of it, basically the Eye is to make things that otherwise would need a lot of other stuff to be made. Like complicated machinery. _

_Sam: I was going to, but it would have just been a copy and paste of the crew's reaction after Ahbiilok died, so I didn't, cause that would be boring._

_DarkArmor: The two personalities will eventually sort themselves out, as an amalgam, but at the moment they will continue to shift, particularly around certain issues, eg, power, death, control, dragons, the weakness of mortals ect. Draugr would be looked down on if he was being necromantic about it, but he's not, they just think he's a dragon, so the other Nords will probably be more alright with it. Anyway, the Draugr will mostly be kept out of sight from the inhabitants of Saarthal._

_Texan Ranger: Hmmm, sort of, but not really, Deathknights are mortals with the plague of undeath, who have certain magic abilities, Dragur are actually dead, but preserved, like zombies. Deathknights have free will (to an extent) Draugr do not._

_Vermin-lord: Most of them wont see it, Harry'll just fall from the sky and they'll be like 'woah, how do you get about so fast?' And yea, progress is very good, Warcraft has done it pretty well with the phasing, and Skyrim to a lesser extent with making the houses. I didn't really like Kvatch, I freed the city bummed about in Cyrodiil for like months, then when I come back to get soldiers for Bruma, the same guy is standing in the same spot, surrounded by the same fires. I was like 'dude, you could have at least tidied it up a bit.' _

_TharzZzDunN: That's actually quite a good point, given Dwemer were all about metal and stuff, it probably is them who made it, well done for pointing it out._

_Anuraten: Atmora is a frozen wasteland actually, so that's out, but there might be one to Akavir later_

_Turtlepie: the TES wiki defines it as a 'time of gift giving, parties, and parading.' And its on the 25th of the last month of the TES calendar. So yea, they don't celebrate 'christmas' but its basically the same. Anyway, since when is Christmas about Christ? (nowadays I mean)_

_Danyael Prince: Not soon, but yea, eventually._

* * *

"Bloody hell!" a fast moving shape exclaimed, swerving to the right.

The whale splashed down, a spray of water being sent up from the impact of the mammal's body on the ocean.

Harald had been flying low over the sea when he saw an immense black shape had risen up out of sea, followed by the immense blue body of a whale. The darker back had arched up, then twisting, one fin waving as the body turned and the white underbelly shown before the whale crashed back down.

Throwing himself back in the chair, Harald started to climb higher, the wind whistling through the woodwork of the improvised platform.

The craft he was aboard had taken a week to build, but Harald was quite pleased with it for a first attempt. It would have been a broom by any other name, and though Harald did indeed enjoy brooms, he needed passenger capacity. This was achieved with the use a sled he had brought from a local farmer, and a large chair. The chair was fixed to the sled and various spells attached to the construction to make it fly.

The standard broom amongst European Wizards was first created around the 10th century. It was a fairly simple affair, with only one speed, and the directions of up and down; you even had to aim it, rather than steering. Wizards, mainly German, who popularised the use frequently complained of the slinters because of the flight, even after short trips. In the later years, the Cushioning Charm and variable Hover Charms were added. They worked as expected. Cushioning spells making a saddle, meaning the wizard didn't need to hold on so much, and the Hover Charms affected direction.

The main propulsion was via Banishers, these would push the broom forward, also explaining the shape of the twigs. Better broom's twigs were sleeker, as this allowed the Banishers to work better, whereas if one picked up an actual sweeping broom, the twigs would throw off the spell and affect speed.

Therefore Harald's airspeeder, which ever since he had seen _Star Wars_ had sounded far more impressive than 'Broomstick', worked by a Hover Charm on the bottom, keeping it off the ground and providing lift, and a Banisher directed via a rune on the back of the chair. Steering was limited, but acceptable. It was similar in some aspects to a flying carpet an Indian Sadhu had once lent him. Only later did Harald discover how rare that was, there being only two hundred in the world, the secrets of their construction being lost in time.

Eventually Solstheim came into sight. Harald was quite high now, and from the thinness of the air perhaps two miles above the island. He had taken the direction on a whim rather than for any particular reason, but he rather wanted to see the results of the 'Solstheim Adventure', which was what Winterhold universally called their little jaunt over to Raven Rock.

Disillusionment Charms came into effect and Harald floated down to the western side of the island, coming up on the large wall. As Harald circled round he saw large drifts of ash piling up on the southern side. Presumably the purpose of the wall was to protect the town from the ash, given that there were no other walls. It seemed an effective, if overly large precaution.

Eventually after several more circles, and nothing interesting being seen below, Harald set off at a leisurely pace southwards. Solstheim was roughly circular, and about twenty miles across. The Wizard was proceeding anticlockwise around the edge, flying at around bowshot distance. The Disillusionment Charms were still active though, hiding him. Harald noticed as he went that his flight was disrupting the large drifts of ash as he went past them, he would have to remember that, it would be no good if he was in Skyrim and a cloud was split in half by his passage or something.

_Blood._

Harald drew up short, tugging on the twin ropes to the sped.

_Blood for the Lord!_

There was some kind of physic presence in his mind. Somewhat like the first time Harald had heard Parseltongue, no another whispering voice filled his head. He began to circle lower, listening intently for the whispers. Anything that needed blood was bound to be bad news, and anything that could project a mental presence over half a mile was bound to be powerful, and therefore valuable. These two combined set Harald just outside a ruin, large drifts of ash almost eclipsing a Nordic barrow.

_Ahzidal demands blood!_

'_Ah Zidal' – _Embittered Destroyer. A Dragon Priest, one Harald recognised the name of. He had been an Atmoran in the time of the Return, a mage of great skill and power who enchanted Ysgramor's Five Hundred's weapons.

Harald stroked his beard, disgusted that he was now mostly covered in ash, turning his skin and face grey.

"Verticosus Vertex!" he intoned, swirling one hand in a circular motion.

As the summoned tornado cleared the barrow out for him to enter, Harald donned the Cloak of Invisibility and collapsed his flying sled into a special expanded pouch he had made for that purpose. Then he wandered down through the tomb. It was alike to both Folgunthur and Saarthal in almost every way, however, the dialect on the wall carvings appeared to be slightly different, not in words, but in the turn of phrase, and the fashion of image. Saarthal's carvings could be considered the oldest examples of such in Tamriel, given that it was the first Nordic settlement, whereas Folgunthur's were a later example. This barrow on Solstheim appeared to be another step along the linguistic path.

Disliking the ashy smell in the air, Harald progressed as quickly as possible, as it was underground he could use his Wraithform, the dark smoke pooling on the floor as he reformed himself after going through an iron grate. Before him were a pair of boots, in the Nordic style, that gave off a magical aura. Harald could not identify what they did, so stored them in his bag. There were three other pieces of armour, the relics of Ahzidal, as well as two rings.

After many puzzles that Harald had no patience for today, either blasting through them with _Reductos _or sliding around them in his Wraithform, the Wizard came to the last chamber. Just before he entered he drew out his slate.

"Savos Aren."

About a minute passed, then the Dunmer's face filled the screen, "Yes? Hello? Where are you?"

"Solstheim." Replied Harald, "Do you know of any reasonably powerful mages here?" he asked. "I need to have some artefacts identified."

"Do it at the College?" suggested Savos.

"I already have the College in my pocket, either by fear or awe." Explained Harald, feeling around the seam of the door for an opening, "I'm making contacts for later."

There was a rustle of cloth, Harald glanced around and saw the end of a shrug from Savos. "Try Tel Mithryn, it's the last remnant of the Telvanni, well, basically anywhere."

"And this would be where?" Harald asked, his arm up to the elbow in a crack in the door, attempting to grasp a handle on the other side.

"How am I supposed to know?" replied Savos annoyed, "I'm not a geographer. Look for giant mushrooms."

Savos ended the connection and Harald was left feeling vaguely bemused.

"Mushrooms." He said at length, standing up and taking a few paces away. "Oh well."

He pointed his hand at the stone door. "_Reducto_!"

* * *

Harald looked at the stream of blue…well, sort of smoke, in front of him.

To test it he conjured a small stuffed bear and threw it into the magical lift. The toy went up at a respectable rate and was spat out onto a platform. Harald shouldered the sack of Ahzidal's relics and stepped onto the lift himself, there was an odd feeling like he was in a pipe full of water, and in a few seconds Harald stepped lightly out.

"Good day." He announced to a bald, severe looking Dunmer in elaborate robes.

"And who might you be?" asked the mage.

"An adventurer by the name of Harald," replied Harald, "Who is unimportant apart from that he has just killed the Dragon Priest Ahzidal and got a bag full of his stuff. Who are you?"

"Neloth." Said the Dunmer shortly, "Presumably you wish to sell it to me like some common merchant?"

"Telvanni Mage-Lords tend to like magical artefacts." Replied Harald patronisingly.

Neloth's mouth twitched, either in contempt or amusement. "Well then." He gestured to a table.

Harald floated the sack over and upended it, spilling out the four pieces of armour and the two rings. Then he wandered about the large mushroom tower, examining various pieces of equipment Neloth had. There seemed to be a unusually large amount of Dwemer objects, or so Harald assumed, never having seen the odd bronze coloured metal before but knowing of it through rumours.

To impress Neloth and to demonstrate that he was in fact not a simple adventurer, Harald transformed several of the metal struts into dragons and set them flying about the room. Their wingtips brushed against the honeycombed roof and past large stringy tendrils that seemed to strengthen the structure.

"Who's this Master?" came a voice from a Dunmer who had just entered, he walked up to Neloth who was standing with arms crossed on the other side of the room, regarding Harald.

"He professes to be an adventurer." Replied the Telvanni, still with the same expression of detached interest on his face.

"Not technically a lie." Called Harald, trying to think up something impressive and yet trivial magic to perform.

"Indeed." Said Neloth with not quite a sneer. He turned back to his assistant, "He claims to have defeated Ahzidal, one of the Dragon Priests buried on Solstheim, I had attempted to locate the barrow before to retrieve these…relics." A wave to the table, "But I was prevented by environmental factors."

Harald laughed and made his way back over to the two Elves. "You mean the ash? I tend to find these deal with them rather well." Harald held out a hand palm upwards and blew on it; a moderately sized tornado came into existence, rushing toward the assistant and spinning him around several times so that he collapsed on the floor.

Interestingly Harald had actually learned a Shout to do the same thing; he had termed it 'Cyclone'. He had first wondered why it was not one learnt from Irgil, (Whose devouring Harald was still feeling vaguely guilty about) but assumed that it was because this was a Solstheim shout, and unique to that place.

"Impressive." Neloth said sincerely.

"So said the College of Winterhold, many many times."

At that Neloth smiled, "You've met with those fools then?"

Harald made a noise of assent.

"What was your opinion of them?"

Harald considered, watching in amusement as Neloth's assistant unsteadily got to his feet, his robes tangled around his ankles. "I found their motives insufficient," he said after a while, "For all their talk of the pursuit of knowledge they fail to understand the reasons for doing so."

Neloth's mouth twitched again, this time definitely in approval. "Enough of this," he said, his tone turning blank again, "You are clearly no traveling merchant, nor common adventurer, what do you want."

The Telvanni somehow made a question into a statement, this both puzzled and amused Harald. "I have an interest in magic, you are a respected mage, I would like you to identify the relics."

Neloth abruptly turned and strode toward the table laden with Ahzidal's armour, luckily the Dragon Priest had not been wearing them, but rather the traditional raiment, a flowing robe and plates of some kind of thin pale metal in segments like scales. Harald had also retrieved the Mask, which he had yet to find the secrets of.

"Waterwalking enchantment." Neloth called, tapping the boots, then holding his hand over the gloves, "Improvements in Warding capabilities, will require further study," then the helm, "Improves range of summons and runes while costing more Magicka." He went to the last piece of armour, the cuirass. "Hmmm…Talvas, hit that."

Talvas, the assistant, sighed, then thumped the cuirass, he was immediately covered in a green sheen and fell to the floor.

"Paralyze." Remarked Harald, nudging the assistant with his foot.

"Indeed." Replied Neloth scowling down at Talvas, "The rings will require greater study, I will need to keep them longer, do you have a method of me contacting you? Couriers are fairly rare though I could send Talvas to Raven Rock."

"No need." Replied Harald happily, finding another way to impress Neloth, "I require some of your blood." He said, holding out an unbound slate, "Just a drop on that."

Neloth did so, examining the metal. "Is this ebony?" he asked.

Harald nodded, "A miniscule part of the loot I got from Raven Rock."

Harald did not mind admitting this to the mage, he would have been more careful around a customs official, or one of the Redoran Guard, but he felt he had found a kindred spirit to his Ravenclaw side. As Harald had studied more laws tended to fall by the wayside, they were just not important. Some of it was detachment from society; if you were an individual there was no reason to consider what society thought.

Besides, who was to hold him to account, who was powerful enough really. It was particularly amusing when various officials attempted to use his friends to persuade him to do certain things. It didn't work, but it was funny all the same.

"You wouldn't happen to have any more of this would you?" asked Neloth, looking up from an apparatus, one of Ahzidal's rings held in a clasp surrounded by an array of crystals.

Harald gave him the two Masks he had acquired from the corpses of Ahzidal and Zahkriisos.

"This one." Said Neloth with Ahzidal in his right hand, "Will enhance Fire spells and increase resistance against such, whereas the blue here will to the same with Shock. I would conjecture that there would be another that does the same for Frost."

"Logical." Harald agreed. "Though I have no idea where to find it."

Neloth frowned, and then spoke a few soft words to his assistant, who had recovered from his paralysis. Talvas scurried away, limping slightly and brought back a small box. Neloth then handed it to Harald, who opened it, finding a little silver ring with an orange stone set in it.

"This is my Ring of Tracking." Explained Neloth. "Press the jewel to something that emits energy and it will lead you to items of similar energy."

"A magical tricorder." Said Harald in amusement. He tried it on one of the masks, the other flared blue.

"The enchantment is still in development, but if you test it out for me you can keep the next completed one." Continued the Telvanni.

Harald thought that seemed reasonable, and said so. He then attempted to make a few more pleasantries, but after realising that Neloth probably wanted to get on with his work, Harald turned to the assistant, Talvas.

"What would your position here be?" asked Harald sidelong to the elf, taking a seat on a chair and a sip from a waterskin, then offering it to Talvas.

Talvas thanked him and drank, "Second Apprentice and laboratory assistant." He replied, "First Apprentice is Ildari Sarothril, very headstrong, Master Neloth teaches her far more than he does me. Ever since she found that Black Book really."

Harald carefully avoided spitting out his mouthful of water.

"The what?" he asked, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a sleeve.

"They found one in some old Dwemer ruin, up north. Or Ildari did anyway, but for some reason they couldn't get at it. I was back here at the time."

Harald, having heard enough, stood up and paced over to Neloth who was in the process of affixing a Magelight inside a lantern, casting a warm orange glow from the fixture.

"Black Books." He stated said without preamble.

"You refer to the tomes of esoteric knowledge that old Hermaeus Mora has scattered throughout the world? What could you know of them?" Replied Neloth, turning around from his work and looking at Harald intensely.

"There was one under Raven Rock, Mora implied that I should read them all." Said Harald.

Neloth came closer, eyes slightly narrowed. "Yes, you have the look about you. So you found one did you? And spoke to old Mora himself?"

Harald shrugged, "Come to think of it the knowledge wasn't actually that useful." He said. So much for the 'Scholar's Insight'. "But," he continued, "Knowledge is power and all, so I suppose it can be dangerous in the right hands."

Neloth nodded, "And dangerous knowledge tends to be the most useful no? Anyway, yes, I do know where a Black Book is."

Harald made a gesture for him to continue.

"Nchardak." Said Neloth after a small pause.

"Bless you?" replied Harald in growing amusement.

"A Dwemer city to the north, 'City of a Hundred Towers' if my lessons in the Dwemer language paid off, perhaps one of the most advanced they constructed." Said Neloth, he pointed to the tables of Dwemer artefacts and pieces of metalwork. "I collected them from the first few chambers last time I journeyed there, I was planning another expedition in a few weeks, if you'd like to you along I'm sure I can find a use for you."

* * *

"_Excavo"_

The rock peeled away as Harald walked forward, hand directed before him. The Wizard was expanding Saarthal, and had been doing so for several days.

Harald paused. Hand still outstretched and brought out a map he had drawn. He had extensively catalogued the Draugr necropolis, however, that was a necropolis, where you couldn't go three feet in a single direction without bumping into a Draugr, pacing the halls endlessly.

The problem with this was that, massive as Saarthal was, only a tiny proportion of it was suitable for human habitation. The actual city had long ago been buried in tonnes of ice and rock, and no doubt a mammoth or two. Therefore, Harald was tunnelling a new entrance, this one would emerge in far more splendour and majesty that the first, which seemed actually to be a back gate of sorts. Harald guessed the proper main gate had been destroyed or lost long ago, and had no way of finding it.

In fact, the actual city was basically gone. After clearing away some of the snow on the surface the only thing Harald had found was ruins, stones too worn to tell what they were, other than that they had been hewn my mortal hands, because of their artificial shape and placement.

Meanwhile, underground was perfectly serviceable, for the Draugr, which it must be said, were doing an excellent job of clearing the place up. Harald had whole armouries of weapons, rooms full of strange objects collected and brought to him. He would examine these later, along with the several hibernating bears he would have to take the hides and meat of to start up a larder.

The point of the exercise he was currently partaking in was really for the new population which should arrive at some point, (though he did not doubt the strength of ancient Nordic workmanship, given the ruin actually still stood), was to make a stronger, underground city. Harald was planning to hide a city under the snow, with only a few towers above to pretend that the population was far smaller than it was. Furthermore, the lower city would be equipped with all the magic that Harald could work up. He was particularly looking forward to the moving staircases.

Abruptly jolting him out of his train of thought, Harald looked down the tunnel he had forgotten to halt the progress of. There was light at the end of it. Puzzled, he walked forward, feeling a cold wind rush through the passage. At the end there seemed to be a large space. Harald lent forward, sticking his neck out over the precipice that had been drilled in the rock wall of whatever new area he had broken into.

It was almost utter darkness below, and Harald sent a few streams of light out into the darkness. The first landed on a circular bronze coloured object, the second on what seemed to be a stone walkway, and the third just carried on for what seemed like several hundred feet, eventually becoming too distant to be of any use.

Feeling that he needed to shed even more light on the subject, Harald shot off a _Lumos Maxima, _flicking his hand forward, drawing it back, and flicking it forward again like a whip. The ensuing light was dazzling, but did its job, and showed Harald a roughly circular shaft, very wide, and very very deep. Across the shaft were pipes with steam seeping out and walkways spanning across, and at the bottom there seemed to be a collection of buildings.

Harald nodded slowly. "Dwemer ruin. Should be interesting." He then faded into a gas and let himself drift down the shaft slowly, examining the buildings till he reached the bottom. There he found a dozen odd goblin-like creatures. They had pointed ears, very pale skin, and red eyes. The total effect was rather repulsive, and Harald observed them for quite a while concluding that they were possibly some kind of elf that lived underground.

After a while observing these strange new creatures, Harald ascended a few levels, wandering about the ruin until he found a large door. Inside he found more of the elves, and decided to retreat to Saarthal for a party of Draugr which could clear out the elves, leaving him in peace to examine the Dwemer city.

* * *

Bone clinked and rasped as it grinded together, mirrored by quiet swishing leather moving together.

Harald grasped another small scale and fitted it over his Phalanx bones, a single scale to each of the small bones in his fingers and another for the gap in between. The scales started along the carpals, several large overlapping integuments coming down to join longer scales from Ahbiilok's flank on his metacarpals. These in turn overlapped the scales along his proximal phalanges and so on. Each set of four was taken from a different place on Ahbiilok's body, which was laid out on one side of the cavern.

Harald finally took five very small scales, from around the Dragon's face, some of which were cracked or marred by his sword strokes and had to be discarded, and put the good ones over his nails.

Admiring the play of light on the set of bony protuberances along his knuckles Harald applied a temporary sticking charm to them, fastening the scales to the leather glove he had created previously.

The full range of movement on the gauntlet was given by the large number of scales. On the little finger along there were seven, and in total on the hand had over fifty, each allowing him protection and mobility in equal measure. Then further up the wrist where he had shaped part of Ahbiilok's pelvis into wristguards, three more plates over lapping up to the elbows.

Harald smiled, he was quite pleased with his armour, this being the last piece. He carefully removed the armoured glove and set it in the air over a runic array that he had set up previously, this one just suspended items in the air via a hover charm applied to the barrel lid the array was inscribed upon.

Swiftly repeating the process for the other hand Harald completed the second gauntlet far faster than the first. This was because he did not have to test out a dozen different designs on it, but could simply copy the one he already had. There were around a dozen unfinished gauntlets floating about the room. At first he had wanted to make it out of bone. This was too ridged, however, scales, the second choice, were too small or too oddly shaped for armour. Then there were several applications of both, which were moderately successful, and eventually worked out in his penultimate design, a mirror of some of the medieval suits of plate armour Harald had seen. The final design only incuded the addition of the bony protrusions on the knuckles. These were not horns or spikes, not really, more a squashed pyramid on each knuckle to make a knuckleduster. This addition made them both a defensive measure, and would make punches ridiculously more powerful, should Harald ever need to punch someone that hard.

Whilst the gauntlets alone were formidable, their design was mirrored with the rest of the armour. Large areas, the chest, the back, shoulders, thighs, were protected by reformed bony plates. The reforming process consisted of breaking them, then using magic to repair them, medical charms could reform a bone, and Harald was taking advantage of the ability to reform the bone in a particular fashion. Around the joints and other areas like the back of the thighs there were scales however. These would allow Harald to actually move, and acted as underarmour, which would not stand up to great force, but deflect attacks because of the shape and nature of the scales.

Harald was particularly proud of the shoulders. These were a separate piece that could be put over the head and fastened around the collar. Given that the actual durability of the armour was irrelevant, as Harald could have made a grass coat with the Unbreakable enchantment applied to it, he wanted to look as impressive as practicality would allow.

To this end, Harald had collected the various small horns and spikes that Ahbiilok did have, and made them into a formidable array, and as Harald lifted it over his shoulders and conjured a full-length mirror he thought he looked formidable. The largest spikes were on the tips of the shoulders, pointing straight up, then smaller spikes as the line neared his head. Though he wanted to look good Harald did not feel like cutting off his ears by turning his head too quickly.

Harald did a few stretched to test the total mobility. The waist area was slightly more rigid that he would have preferred and did not let him turn more than a third each way, but it was acceptable for a first attempt, he could always modify it later, in fact he probably would. Ahbiilok seemed to be a very heavily built dragon, and there would probably be smaller and lighter ones who's scales would be more easily used that the broad heavy ones of his first kill.

"_Abscondita Innecto_!" Harald said, the armour vanished and he was left in the elegant Dragonhide on which the bones and scales were mounted.

Harald smiled happily, the first step worked, he drew another breath. "_Armatura!"_

Before his eyes scales sprang out, seemingly from nowhere onto his hand.

"_Abscondia Innecto, Armatura, Abscondia Innecto, Armatura_. Well…that works." Harald said, then tried it non-verbally. It took him a few more tries this time, but the end result was the same, the armour would disappear and reappear at command, whether by thought or word.

"How are you doing that?" asked Siva from behind him. Harald looked in the still floating mirror to see her leaning against the door of the cavern Harald had excavated the day before, her face illuminated in the light of a dozen large Magelights on the ceiling.

"Pocket Dimensions." Harald said happily, snapping his fingers, materialising only a single gauntlet this time.

"And they would be?" asked Siva, taking his hand and turning it over, slender fingers stroking over the scales.

"I don't want to be wearing armour at all times." Replied Harald, falling backward and conjuring a large leather chair to catch him. He repeated the gesture, knocking it into the back of Siva's knees so she fell into it. "However, I will need to get into it quickly if I am attacked, and will therefore require a squire or something. I don't want this; I would make me rely on someone else for my own safety, something I am uncomfortable doing. Now," He said, extending his hand and pointing to a tiny hole in the fabric of the glove, only visible through a magnifying glass he had also conjured. "There is a small pocket dimension for each individual scale, when I think the command; the dimension spits the piece out, which is then affixed to the fabric."

"So you're always wearing a suit of armour?"

"Indeed, cool isn't it?" agreed Harald, amused at the expression of confusion at the word 'cool'.

"How is the excavation of Alftand going?" asked Siva after a little while, curling up in her chair and reaching into the almost constant pouch of snowberries she presumably kept up a sleeve somewhere.

While Harald extended the chair for her, he considered the city they had broken into. Almost the first thing he had done after finding the ruin was to find a translation dictionary, the book was now on loan from the Ysmir Collective at the College, and Harald had made great strides in translating some of the texts inside. He had learnt that the whole place was called 'Alftand', and the individual shaft was apparently the 'Animonculory'. The exact purpose of said area was as yet unclear. He had not ventured far, and knew he would not be able to go through the whole place by himself. Neloth, who Harald was hoping to ensnare the interest of, had apparently gone off on an adventure a few weeks after Harald visited him, or so the assistant said. Harald had however got the rings back after flying to Solstheim and collecting them one day. He had ended up disenchanting all of Ahzidal's relics, and had in turn learnt the enchantments should he wish to put them on anything.

"Reasonably." He eventually answered. "However, I've had to pull the Draugr back, they tend to fall down steps rather easily, as well as not understanding what tripwires are."

"I thought you said the Dwarves were all gone?" asked Siva, "Their machines I mean."

"Dwemer." Corrected Harald off hand, a dwarf had once delivered a singing valentine to him, and he was fairly sure someone like that couldn't create an underground civilisation. "Yes, there does seem to be a lack of the fabled automatons, but I'm putting that down to the Falmer presence there."

That was another strange thing; Harald got a corpse of one of the degenerate creatures and was told by several of the College mages that it was in fact a Falmer. One of the Snow Elves that made the sack of the Night of Tears. Clearly this was a lie, or rather, a misconception brought on by the passage of time. There was no way the legendary Snow Prince had been blind, horribly ugly and about four feet tall. Harald had eventually decided to call the goblinoids 'Falmer' and, should he ever meet one, the taller and obviously more impressive Snow Elves by their original name.

"_Grave Guard Report Terrible Hunter Command."_ Came the whispering voice of one of the Draugr as it stumped through the door.

"Yes?" Harald said to it, "What do you want?"

"_Bone of Earth Maker Whole."_ Said the Overlord, the class that reported to him, and the method by which his commands were diffused down the hive mind.

"That what?" Harald wondered aloud after dismissing it. "_'Bone of Earth'?"_

"Your device." Came the answer from Siva.

"Oh!" Harald exclaimed, jumping up and walking quickly off, levitating Siva's couch behind him.

Sufficed to say from the distasteful expression Harald's Dunmer had on her face whenever she passed one, Siva did not like the Draugr. Harald supposed that it might be to do with the funeral customs of the two different races, the Ancient Nords had mummified their dead, the Dunmer always cremated theirs.

It also might have something to do with the Draugr kidnapping her from her bed one day. Harald had been bored of tunnelling and mused within earshot of one of the walking corpses that he would have enjoyed Siva's company, this 'order' had been relayed to a few Deathlords, who had marched all the way to Winterhold at a furious pace and somehow gotten into the College without anyone being the wiser. Harald had been presented with an annoyed and confused Dunmer wrapped in a blanket minutes away from starting up her fire spells during his midday meal.

Eventually the situation was resolved and Harald had seen fit to inform Siva, and after her via slate, Savos, about his new force. He also had to forbid the Draugr from going beyond five miles of Saarthal's entrance, he would have prevented them from leaving the city at all, but then realised that they might one day have to pursue someone beyond the city if he was absent, which would require a degree of autonomy to be granted them.

Harald set Siva down in a new room outside the chamber housing the Eye of Magnus, he was not allowing anything apart from himself in the chamber, not because he thought someone would steal the Eye, after all, how would you get it out the door? Or in for that matter. Anyway, he was worried about contamination of some sort, and therefore was being very careful about everything.

Walking up and touching the Eye produced a large box with the stamp 'TOP SECRET – FUTURE PLANNING DEPT.' stencilled on it. Under the stamp was an embossed eagle under a crown with a Latin phrase around it in a circle. Given that Harald could not remember the exact details and formulae for the creation of the device, he had instead used the Eye as a pensive, drawing out a memory of the creation of the machine when he had been working on it for the government. Regardless of if he remembered it or not, he had once seen it, and a pensive could draw that out.

Carrying the bow outside, Harald dumped it in front of Siva's couch and sat down cross legged between her and the box.

"What is it?" asked Siva, coming to peer over his shoulder.

Harald cleared his throat, "Identification: Interim Air Marshal Harry Potter, Department Head, Future Planning Department, His Majesty's Royal Air Force, Year of Commission 2083."

A green light blinked on and a metallic voice issued from the box. "_Confirm identification with passphrase_."

"Per ardua ad astra" said Harald clearly, remembering the irony that came with choosing that particular phrase for the password, given that the Air Force had mainly been decommissioned after Nuclear Winter set in, the engines tended to get clogged up with ash and his project was one of the only ones still active, an attempt to reach space through the creation of new alloys to make space craft. The international moon base had been nuked fairly early on, but there was some hare-brained scheme to try and reach one of the Near-Earth planets outside the solar system. Eventually a ship had indeed been made, and had taken off, but it would have taken decades to reach the planet, so no-one knew what happened to it, and Harald had eventually retreated to Hogwarts.

The machine started slowly unfolding into a terminal, three differnet keyboards in a semi-circle around Harald with two screens above, surrounded by wires and larger pieces of metal in rectangular shape around his knees.

"_Series 2 Mark 7 Matter Synthesizer." _Said the mechanical voice, "_Designer: Harry Potter, Producer: Future Planning Department."_ There was a whirring noise for a few seconds _"Insert Query."_

"Run Diagnostic." Harald instructed, then turned to Siva as the machine whirred away. "As I was speaking in English then, you wouldn't have understood that." He explained, this time in Nordic, "Basically this is a machine that makes things out of energy."

"Where did you get it?" she asked, trying to decipher the strange characters that made up the words '_Diagnostic Process 47% Complete'_ with a progress bar.

"I made it." Harald replied. "About forty years ago."

"You've only been here two years though?" hazarded Siva, ceasing to try and read '_Subunit Adjunctive 3356 Optimal' _as the Synth progressed onto the 48th percentile.

"Six actually." Harald replied, "Or rather six on this world." He reached out and touched a circle on the right hand bottom corner of one of the screens, this brought up a large graph with many coloured lines running across it, most of them heading steadily up as the machine jumped up to 60% and the _'Initialisation Process Stage 1_'.

Siva seemed happy with that, and began to sit back in her seat, but then shot forward again.

"Forty!?"

Harald paused while skipping part of the diagnostic, "Ah." He said. "Woops."

"You said forty years. You can't be more than thirty." Siva said, coming around the Synth and leaning on it.

Harald got up and pulled her off the cooling port so to prevent the machine overheating and led her back to the couch. Then he drew the Hallows in the air with a few strokes of a finger.

"Remember this?" he asked, pointing to the triangle, circle and line. Siva nodded, "Master of Death is not just a title." He continued. "I am, functionally immortal."

Siva cocked her head to the side, "What if someone kills you?"

_Quick on the uptake_. Thought Harald. "I'm not actually sure." He said, "I assume that I would become a spirit and wander about till I found myself a body."

"You still didn't answer how you could have made something before you were born."

Harald smiled enigmatically, "This isn't technically my body." He said, "It will be in a few more years, given that the soul tends to shape the form, but this was constructed from the dead flesh of a Draugr."

Siva poked him in the cheek a few times.

"So how old are you?" she asked, "Other worlds aside."

Harald frowned, then did a quick count on his fingers. "One hundred and forty…hmmm, plus six, yes, there we go. One hundred and forty nine." He didn't even mention the amount of time he had spent using time-turners or in pensives, which would add up to another few decades probably.

"Almost as old as Savos." Siva noted, still attempting to poke a hole through his face.

Just then there was a high 'Ding' from the Synth. Harald turned his head to see the progress bar full, he reached over and tapped the button to see the results.

"_Initialisation and Diagnostic Complete." _Sounded the voice, "_No connection to Mainframe established, confirm Controller Matrix?"_

Harald frowned again, "Um… Establish Unimatrix on Installation 1?" he told it, that should sort the problem out. Basically the computer was confused because it had no central agency to receive orders from. Harald was hoping it would accept being autonomous, but still taking orders from him otherwise he would have to re-create the whole mainframe.

"_Controller Matrix Designated Installation 1 – Interim Air Marshal Harry Potter designated Commander in Chief in absence of higher authority."_

"Really?" asked Harald, "Clarify." wondering why the machine had seen fit to promote him. He was only the Interim Marshal because most of the actual Marshals were dead; his rank was purely ceremonial really, like how James Bond was a Commander in the Navy.

"_Item:_ _Geography does not correspond with current records. Item: High levels of radiation detected in air. Item: Non-Human sentient species detected in local area. Item: Harry Potter still alive. Conclusion: Harry Potter leading colony mission, absence of higher authority activates Swaraj Doctrine."_

"Yes…a colony." Harald said slowly. It was best just to go along with the computer at the moment. He couldn't explain about magic, because virtually no one apart from the Royals knew about that, and the Synth would think he was insane and stop working. To be fair to it however, it was logical in its deductions. Assuming the 'Radiation' it had detected was the latent magic in the air, the activation of the Swaraj Doctrine was the best course.

Just before the first and only colony ship Earth launched, or rather, the First World launched, given that the rest of it was mainly warlords fighting over resources, there had been some debate about what to do if they met aliens. As the colony ship would have virtually no contact with Earth, given the distance, it was proposed that they institute a policy of self-rule on a set of broad principles, the 'Swaraj' had come from Ghandi and the relationship at that time between Britain and it's erring colony India.

Regardless, if the machine thought he was a colony leader Harald wouldn't be correcting it any time soon.

Harald saw that the green light was blinking on and off, awaiting orders.

"Prepare for Synthesization process." He said, tapping the monitor again to check the graph, energy levels were good.

"_Synthesizer prepared."_

"Input sequence, scan mode, catalogue object."

Harald then put a small knife on the scanning plate, a green beam swept over it and there was another 'Ding'.

"_Scan complete, Item 1 identified as 'Knife'. Defenition-"_

"Skip to Chemical Analysis." Harald ordered, he knew what a knife was. "Display results visually."

Various coloured charts popped up on one screen while a three dimensional image drew itself out and started rotating slowly.

_Iron: Fe: 94.1%  
Chromium: Cr: 4.8%  
Nickel: Ni: 1.1%  
Conclusion: Alloy Steel_

"Energy levels?" queried Harald, pulling up a second window and changing the levels of the different elements.

"_100%."_

"Begin production of recent addition to Database, designate 'Stainless Steel'." He told it, "Oh, and modify designation: 'Harry Potter' to 'Harald Stormcrown.'"

"_Affirmative."_

* * *

Harald was falling. The wind whipped past him, running thin fingers through his hair.

Just at the moment he exited a cloud, punching a small hole in it, he felt a vibration from his thigh.

"Hello?" he answered into the slate.

Jergen's face filled the picture; he appeared to be standing underground somewhere. The first thing Harald noticed was the rather dashing scar on his cheek, one of the few Harald had not healed from their fight.

"Harald when can you – where in Shor's name are you?" the Companion asked.

Harald just stuck out and arm and flipped over as he fell showing the aerial view of Solitude, the Blue Palace distinct against dark stone.

"You wanted something?" Harald asked, amused.

Jergen hesitated, "Ah…Yes…When can you be in Whiterun?" he asked.

"Three hours." Replied Harald, leaning left to avoid a flock of birds.

"How so fast…wait…that's a stupid question isn't it?" asked Jergen, rubbing his chin.

Harald just nodded patronisingly.

"Well get here for that time them, Harbinger's got something for us." Said Jergen, trying to see around Harald by moving the slate on his end. However all this did was change where Jergen himself was situated on Harald's slate.

"Fine." Replied Harald, ending the connection just in time to enter his Wraithform and splatter all over the courtyard of Castle Dour.

As he willed himself back together into a column of smoke Harald found himself surrounded by a guard contingent.

"Good Afternoon gentlemen." He said, stepping back into the real world.

One man came forward, his sword not drawn but looking distinctly suspicious. "Hold there." He ordered.

"Silence." Replied Harald, magically enforcing his own order with a spell, "Where might I find Istlod?" he asked.

"Palace." Someone said from the back.

"Wonderful."

With that Harald transformed back into the Wraithform and flew off down the central avenue that described the arch between the Blue Palace and Castle Dour. He circled the structure once, finding Istlod's balcony on the side, low down on the walls.

Istlod himself was sitting there, looking out over the marsh, apparently observing Harald's smokey form with interest. Next to him stood a man in robes.

As Harald stepped out, planting one foot on the railing, then next step on a chair, and the last on the floor, then finishing with a short sardonic bow, the robed figure stepped back in shock.

"I didn't notice you there Arch-Mage." Harald greeted, "Pray leave me and the Prince alone for a while." He said, smiling all the time but injecting a nuance of the Thu'um into his voice.

Istlod raised an eyebrow, observing how ripples went across his glass of wine as Harald spoke.

The Arch-Mage scoffed, but looked fearfully at Harald and departed, closing the door to the inside behind him.

Harald then spied a bowl full of fruit and began slicing an apple with his magic whilst floating it in the air.

"Arch-Mage Deneth has…concerns." Said Istlod slowly.

"So that's his name!" exclaimed Harald in answer, he didn't know how he hadn't known it before. Harald looked at Istlod, seeing his serious face. "Fine, what does he want?"

"He claims that you murdered a Thalmor emissary."

It was Harald's turn to raise an eyebrow. "I find murder a strong word."

Istlod nodded, "No doubt, but I would hear your side of the story. I know I have no jurisdiction in the matters of Winterhold, nor does my father care much about the King's Peace. But I am interested."

"Very well." Harald conceded. "I needed a soul for a particular purpose, the Thalmor was convenient, and also a spy."

"I presume you have proof?"

Harald handed him the bunch of documents he had stolen, "All in code, but I'll have them decoded and the results send to you if you prefer."

"It seems you are already preforming your duties as Thane." Said Istlod, smiling, he made a gesture at the door, at which his major-domo was standing.

"Not just to Winterhold, I have an ambition to become Thane of each of the Holds." Replied Harald, though he suspected he might have to engineer a few situations to get it, like he had when he stole and subsequently sold the ebony.

An expression of amusement and pleasure flashed across Istlod's face. "Well, I have something to help you with that then."

Harald turned to be handed a long package addressed to 'Harald, Thane of Winterhold.' By the servant.

Harald cracked open a wax seal showing crossed daggers and unwrapped the package.

"For services rendered, they gave me one as well." Narrated Istlod as Harald drew out a new sword, this one rougher than the others, but still of use, with '_The Rift'_ chiselled into both sides of the blade.

"I shall have to make a weapons rack or something." Said Harald thoughtfully, he had the two from the Rift and Haafingar, and one that had been delivered one morning to the entrance of Saarthal by a courier with 'Compliments of Jarl Kjark.'

"I have also been hearing…rumours."

Harald looked up, "What's wrong with you?" he asked, "You're being very guarded. And it's not working, Ulendar needs to renew his lessons methinks." As Harald looked into the Prince's eyes he saw a Bosmer, a retainer of Istlod's father, who seemed to be the Istlod's instructor in the arts of subterfuge.

Istlod's eyes widened in alarm, "How do you know about that?" he asked.

"I can read your mind." Replied Harald lightly, "You were broadcasting rather a lot, try and be less obvious. Anyway, I have to fly to Whiterun fairly soon, so what are these rumours, and where are you keeping my gold?"

"They say…" said Istlod slowly, recovering from the shock, "They say you have declared yourself 'Stormcrown'".

"This is true." Said Harald blandly, he was expecting the word to have reached the Court if the Arch-Mage had been visiting.

"It's treason." Insisted Istlod. "If the Empire catches word of-"

"Who is the Emperor?" asked Harald, interrupting him.

"Aventus Mede." Replied the Prince.

"Aventus Mede, descended from the Colovian warlord Titus Mede I?"

Istlod nodded.

"Not descended from Tiber Septim then?" asked Harald, leaning further forward.

Istlod began to protest but Harald cut him off.

"The Stormcrown belongs to me. I took it by right, using my Thu'um, something I was amused to find was illegal in the Empire ever since the first Mede took the Ruby Throne." Said Harald, standing up.

"The Emperor will say differently." Replied Istlod.

"Ahbiilok, Scourge of the Red Waste said differently as well, but I devoured his soul and took his hide for armour." Harald said cooly, allowing his armour to ripple over him, boots, shinguards, cuisses, faulds, cuirass and spikes spaulders.

Harald looked down at the Prince.

"My gold?"


	25. Wolfblood

jmsdragn: No its not, 'You can add short author notes to the beginning or at the end of stories' – the last AN was like 10% of the chapter, that's still fairly short. If you don't like it just scroll down.

Thorndsword: Did you miss the part about Nuclear War and Ginny getting her heart cut out then?

Brogatar: You'll see in about 3 chapters, but in answer: Significantly.

RoyalTwinFangs: Might have to take the wings off, but sure. Good point with the animals, however, to be fair, the Draugr are perfectly good for guard duty and fighting, and there's like thousands of them buried all over Skyrim. However, I've already got a menagerie planned (for alchemy), which could be used for war.

DarkArmour: Already planned the illusion, pretty sure you'll like it.

T1mmy: It was really me being annoyed at the armour in game. Dragonplate looks really bulky and horrible, and the hat for Dragonscale is ridiculous. But it was mainly me just thinking about something cool.

AN: This was originally going to be much longer, but then i thought just leave it at this, it seemed a natural break.

* * *

Footsteps echoed off the rough stonework in the night. Above them the glowing eyes and beak of the eagle of the Skyforge glowered against a pitch black sky.

"So whats this about?" asked a young white haired man by the name of Kodlak.

Jergen shrugged, small flickers of red from the firelight issuing from the brazier they were standing around reflected in Harald's old armour that he had given the Companion.

"It's another mission, one that needs all of us. Clearly." Said Rollo, tugging at his beard.

"None of the Circle apart from the Harbinger and Ular made it back from wherever they went." Put in Yvette.

"And Ular came back with half an arm."

"Where'd you hear that?" asked Kodlak, the newest member of the band, brought back by Askar from Hammerfell after working with a mercenary band.

"Saw him being carried into the Temple." Replied Yvette, nodding past the Gildergreen toward Kynareth's sacred House.

"Think we're going to avenge them or something?" asked Jergen, his armour grinding loudly as he leant against the rock the Skyforge was built on.

"Doubt it." Harald put in. He had also looked in on Ular as he came into the city, or rather, dropped in, much to the surprise of Olaf Gray-Mane who brought his hammer down wrong on a sword and broke it in two. Harald ha repaired the sword and collected his own, a beautiful black blade with a roaring dragon's head picked out in carven ivory for a hilt.

The Companions looked at him.

"How do you know?" asked Kodlak.

Harald was not offended by the question, as the only thing that shone out from the young man's eyes was honesty, Harald would have betted that he might be Harbinger in the future.

"He tends to about this sort of thing." Said Yvette in Harald's defence.

"Aye." Put in Rollo, "And there's always a complicated but correct explanation."

Kodlak looked hesitantly to Jergen, who shrugged. "And he can fly."

The other's eyes widened in proportion to the time they had been around Harald, and he chuckled softly.

"Well we have several variables here do we not?" he asked rhetorically, "One, the Circle departed and did not return." The other nodded, "Two, the Circle is the advisory council to the Companions, they are the figureheads." He hesitated to use the word leader, as the Companions had no central command, just he Harbinger who 'advised'. It was less a guild, and more an arrangement of friends. 'Act honourably, and the rest of us will help you out when you need it.' – That sort of thing.

"Three." Harald continued, "We are the senior members now."

"So?" asked Rollo without preamble after Harald had finished.

Jergen opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it, reconsidering.

"I get it." Yvette said suddenly. "Harald thinks the Companions need a new Circle."

Harald nodded magnanimously.

"He would be right." Sounded a deep voice from the shadows and the swarthy, thick set form of Askar walked out.

"Ular is likely to die this night, if not tomorrow," continued Askar. "So says the healers."

"And you need people to show the new recruits the ropes?" put in Yvette.

Askar nodded. "This is the entrance to the Underforge, a place carved out on the orders of Rundgar, seven hundred years after the death of Ysgramor.

Harald raised a finger to his temple, his eyes glowed briefly and he could see through the rock into a smaller chamber, a large stone basin inside. "Well hidden." He complimented.

Askar touched a place on the rock near Jergen's shoulder and the rock receded. Jergen stumbled slightly as he regained his footing, and they all followed Askar inside. Taking up station around the basin the Companions waited for their Harbinger to speak, Harald noted the extensive carvings of hunts and great wolves on the walls and ceiling, whilst the basin itself was supported by four snarling muzzles.

"Centuries ago." Askar began, "A Harbinger named Terrfyg made a pact with a coven of witches in the dark woods of Falkreach, these witches promised incredible power in return for following their Prince."

"Hircine." Guessed Harald quietly, after all, wolves and hunts? That was the sphere of the Huntsman.

A flit of irritation went quickly across Askars face. "I will be your forebear," he said, "Are you all prepared to join your spirits in the shared blood of the wolf?"

There were frowns from some of the Companions, probably because Harald had mentioned Daedra worship, however tenuous the connection. However, Harald felt he should probably encourage it, if he wasn't here they would have taken the blood without a thought.

"Go on then." He said.

After all, there would be a cure somewhere or other.

Askar nodded solemnly, and slitting his wrist, blood pumping out. Obviously the constitution of a werewolf was more robust than a normal human; otherwise Askar would have passed out from shock by now.

The Companions drunk of the blood, each in turn going into spasms afterwards, only Jergen remaining standing, Askar pushed them out a side passage which Harald guessed led to the outside. Eventually only Askar and he remained.

"Will you accept the power?" the Harbinger asked.

"It's not going to work." Harald predicted, but dipped a hand into the basin all the same, this was reminding him far too much of a certain underground lake filled with Inferi. His knuckles brushed the bottom and he brought the hand up, pouring the blood into his mouth. Some missed and began to run through his beard, but most left the coppery taste in his mouth as he swallowed.

Immediately he felt a stabbing pain in his chest, aches all over his body, like his bones were lengthening. But then something flared inside him, fire driving the pain away. For the first time in weeks his _Dovah Sos_ boiled, raging though his veins, burning away the impurities.

"Wondering when you'd show up." Harald growled, his hands white as he grasped the lip of the basin.

After another minute of burning pain all over, the blood receded; Harald felt fresh blood run down his lips and knew he must have bitten his tongue. As he ran the offending muscle around his mouth to ascertain if he had in fact done as he thought he cut it again, this time on his canines, which, as he inspected them, had grown slightly longer. He could also feel a strange energy filling his body, not unlike when he grew closer to something Draconic.

Harald finally looked up, seeing Askar regarding him curiously.

"Once you've partaken of the heart of a Dragon, the blood of a Wolf ceases to have power over you." He managed to say, trying not to cut his tongue again.

"I didn't believe the rumours from Winterhold." Askar replied after a while, lifting Harald's chin and peering at his teeth. "It seems I was wrong, but, you certainly have the Wolfblood in you, and you are a true member of the Circle regardless."

Harald's laboured breathing began to ease.

"Rest now, I will speak with you on the morrow, the hunt can be dangerous for mortal to join." Said Askar, and with that he closed his eyes, throwing out his chest. A strangled groan grew from Askar's throat, his arms lengthened, the bones cracking and popping clearly audible, his mouth opened, his teeth sharp and pointed, eyes a glowing amber. Then his muscles began to swell, the skin on his shoulders ripping off, skin darkening underneath and sprouting tufts of fur. Then his mouth lengthened into a snout, his face unrecognisable as Askar let loose a roar that reverberated around the Underforge like a trumpet call in a cave.

With a single bound the Harbinger left the cave, a splash of water as he dropped into the White River.

Harald was left alone afterwards, and managed to stagger out with a pain slowly building behind his eyes, then down into Jorrvaskr, finding a bed and crashing into it.

That night he dreamt of a black dragon warring with a great wolf, its coat as black as the scales on the dragon, each vying for dominance as the two bloods that ran through his veins battled for a portion of his soul. Later in the battle a huge man strode down on a bridge of bones, a bronze torc around his thick neck. The Warrior attacked both Dragon and Wolf, and the two darkness's were driven away by the light that shone from the bridge of bones, an aurora flaring in the sky, casting light on the claws of the Dragon as it rended the Wolf's flesh, on the teeth of the Wolf as it snarled at the man, and the axe blade of the warrior as he hacked at the Dragon's scales.

In the end the Dragon took to the skies, and the Wolf slunk away to lick its wound in a dark forest of pines. The man took up a stone and began to sharpen his axe, and as the dawn crept on he departed, great booted steps spanning across the bridge of bones to a great hall.


	26. Lips

Anuraten: Aetherium Forge takes Aetherian energy and turns it into matter, which is really powerful or something (not sure on specifics), It'll show up later on.

Guest…whoever (one between zvo and RoyalTwinFangs): Tech's not gonna be a big part, it's a plot point so I don't have to explain where all their stuff's coming from.

DarkArmour: Well there are rather a lot of contenders for the PC in the Elder Scrolls/Skyrim, depending on what you do in game. You've got Hircine, possibly Molag Bal if you're a vampire, the Ideal Masters if you got soul trapped before you died, Akatosh because you're Dragonborn, various other Prince's you're the Champion of, Nocturnal for Nightingales, if a dragon kills you technically it gets your soul. There's loads, its not a big plot point though, I'm going to be curing him after a while.

Why he isn't more wary of Lycanthropy: in this chapter,

The dropping out of the sky is to preserve the mystery of how he gets about, regardless of where he appears, people are still going to hear about it, similarly, he's getting his name out, if he went around invisibly (or something similar) its less public, and at the same time more mysterious, he's choosing to appear in a certain way, that is provable, rather than a rumour that he *might* have been in the area.

Thanks for feedback, its most useful

AN: Been some speculation about the warrior who fought off the dragon and werewolf spirits, spoiler, he's not Harald, you meet him in the game, see if anyone can guess.

* * *

Harald was hitting things.

Six humanoid golems jerkily came forward at him, swinging massive stone weapons or their fists at him which were all dodged and inevitably sliced off.

In an attempt to test his capabilities Harald, once he awoke at around dawn had begun to create the stone men from pebbles and suchlike, then provoking them to attack him.

He had found that he was stronger, but the increase in strength seemed to be unmeasurable. Furthermore, it only seemed to come out sometimes, seemingly at random as he darted about the courtyard behind Jorrvaskr.

A rough stone sword swept down, Harald parried it with the flat of his blade, then punched the golem in the chest, his gauntlets leaving indentations and small cracks in the surface. Then he seized the shoulder and leg of the construct, then hurled it toward another group of stone men, bowling them over.

Each time he struck at the golems parts would flake off, then be reabsorbed, so that the previously smooth granite colours and boulderish shape had now morphed into a more cracked appearance, with more fine features, each construct being made now mainly of chips of stone bound together by magic.

"You sure you don't need any help down there?" called a rough brogue from above.

Harald glanced up, Olaf Gray-Mane was peering over the rock of the Skyforge, smithing hammer held in one hand.

"Just testing out your sword." He called back, driving said weapon through the guard of another attacker, burying it in the golem's chest. Cracks spread rapidly out and the beady black eyes on a squat head perched on an almost non-existent neck dimmed, then the golem tumbled to the floor in several pieces.

Another thing that Harald noticed about the Wolfblood now flowing through him was the change in his senses. He could distinctly smell the unpleasant scent of sulphur and the woody one of charcoal up from the Skyforge, as well as some unknown bitter smell.

However, his vision was significantly different, and actually quite annoying. Everything was dimmer, the colours less vibrant and fresh. He could in fact only differentiate between some colours like reds and greens because he knew what colour they were supposed to be. There was less detail in objects, or he could perceive less at any rate, however, he now had excellent night vision, while hearing was improved, two things he was actually expecting from the transformation, given these traits were prevalent in most canines.

Whereas Harald might have been more worried about becoming a werewolf if he had still been on Earth, on Mundus the disease, if it was a disease at all, was mystical rather than mundane, there were probably more vampires than werewolves, as you only had to be bitten once by a vampire to potentially contract the disease, contrasting lycanthropy, where the potential werewolf had to actively drink the blood of another.

The previous Circle was also so clearly different from for instance, Lupin. these werewolves chose to become so, instead of being 'infected'. Besides, Harald knew there had to be a cure somewhere, even if he had to offer up a few souls to Hircine to do it. There were plenty of bandit caves.

"See you've been busy." Came a different voice that Harald recognised without having to turn.

"Felt restless." He answered the Harbinger, running up the arm of a golem as it smashed its fist into the ground, then twisting and cleaving the thing's head off as he jumped.

"Aye, comes with the Wolfblood, we are ever hunting."

"An inability to sleep?" replied Harald in bewilderment, giving his full attention to the Harbinger, using _Reductos_ to buy himself some time from attacks while the golems reformed themselves.

"Not an inability." Said Askar, "We just don't really need to, us of the 'Blood. If we're not fighting we're drinking, if we're not drinking we're hunting, if we're not hunting… well, you get the idea." He shrugged, hands held out palms up.

"And you don't have troubles with the vision? Or smell?" Harald asked back, leaning on his sword, exploding another golem before it could rise.

"You get used to it, that's why we live up here." Said Askar, motioning to the position of Jorrvaskr, "The smell of the city gets taken by the wind. It's ever stronger when you change. Though you probably won't, being Dragonborn and all."

Harald nodded at the forgone conclusion.

"We had another one, well, there was a story." Continued Askar, poking some rubble with his foot, "Before my time, he was a vampire and Hircine wouldn't accept his soul."

"Well obviously." Replied Harald, "Molag Bal already had claim to it, as Patron of Vampires and everything."

Askar shrugged again, "I'm no Daedra worshiper, Talos is my god, but you're probably right, we didn't really get a good look, the man died a few minutes after taking the 'Blood."

"When you change, how long does it last?" Harald then asked, curious about whether he actually wanted to trade his dreams when he slept for a vague, unspecified power.

"Well for me, and the old Circle." Said Askar with a hint of sadness which was immediately stifled by stoicism, "We changed, the n did whatever we needed to do, usually a hunt, and at the end of the hunt we would revert."

"And do you retain your armour?" asked Harald, "Or rather, does it stay with you?"

Askar shook his head, "Your better to remove it, otherwise it tends to break."

Harald dismissed the golems, now tired of keeping them away, "So I'm giving up my sleep, my dreams, for a heightened senses and an odd strength increase, and sharp teeth?" he asked, tongue slight sore from healing all the small cuts he had gotten from said teeth before he filed them with a spell to their normal state.

Askar shrugged.

"Does you have to be a werewolf to be in the Circle?"

Askar shook his head.

"Well bugger this for a game of soldiers then." Harald said, and walked off.

* * *

"Tell me my man;" said Harald from his horse, "do you know where I might buy gems? Particularly uncut ones?"

The guard looked up, "Jen-tai at the market deals in jewellery." He said, "He might have some actual gems, but I can't know."

"Thank you." Replied Harald, flicking the reigns slightly so that the horse walked forward, "You might want to do something with them." He motioned with his head over one shoulder to a pile of burning troll carcasses. The guard nodded and gave a few orders, causing several others with long poles to start pushing the trolls toward a hole in the wall, then down a long shaft onto what Harald assumed was a rubbish heap.

The Jarl of Windhelm requested his presence as soon as Harald had entered the city, and then demanded to know 'why Harald was burning ships in his river by Shor!?'

After the story came out he calmed down some, and then requested to see the Dragon armour, which Harald summoned on the spot, to the interest of the Court Wizard, one Unferth, an immensely old man who must have been over a century at least.

After gaining perhaps not the trust, but the acceptance of the court, Harald managed to pursue his earlier objective, namely, searching the library of Windhelm for information on Dragons. More specifically, he wanted to find out what the Masks of the Priests did. Alone, they were fairly powerful magical artefacts, but Harald suspected they had some other purpose he hadn't yet found out, so he wanted to find some more, and possibly increase his supply of Dragur, who had taken several hundred casualties in the battle with the Falmer, who it had turned out were in far greater numbers that Harald had predicted.

A secondary objective, if he could manage to take a Priest alive, was to learn how the Draugr were created, he was not planning on making any himself, and rather disapproved of Necromancy as a school of magic, but he thought it would be useful given he had thousands of them to deal with.

In the end, Harald had located what he was looking for, a copy of a journal from a general in the army of High King Harald, who reigned in the second century of the first Era. This had caused no end of amusement at the irony of the find, but Harald had learnt that there was indeed a stronghold of the Draogn Cult near Riften. Apparently the Cultists had been ordered to poison themselves by their Priest, rather than be defeated by the army of Skorm Snow-Strider, and had managed to take half the Nord army with them.

Just as Harald had been putting the book back, the Jarl had requested that he deal with one of the manors of Windhelm that had apparently been infested with trolls. Contrary to Harald assumption, this was not a rare occurrence in Eastmarch, and frequently the large ape-like creatures would make small raids into civilisation for food and shiny things that they coveted, lining their nests with baubles and bright bits of cutlery and similar.

By the time Harald got to the house there was a small crowd waiting outside, mostly made up of alchemists who were either taking bets on how long it would take him, or bidding for rights to extract the troll fat that was apparently useful in potion making.

Harald's new ebony sword made short work of the animals, their claws ringing off his scale armour, one troll leaping at his from a banister and impaling itself on his shoulder spikes. Harald had then dragged them outside to be presented with a small bounty in the form of a grey dappled horse. He would have preferred money, but it was all the same really.

Said horse was drawn up short as a gang of small Nord children raced along, throwing snowballs at a similar sized group of Dunmer. Harald joined in, his magically formed and accelerated projectiles at the groups.

"A gold piece for whoever takes me to Jen-tai." Harald promised, holding up a Septim.

One Nord girl stepped forward, wiping snow off his face, "He lives at the Argonian 'ssemblage, Papa say's we're not allowed to go there."

"No silly," said another, "He means where does he work, c'mon!" and with that the children started running away down the street, Harald urging his horse into a trot to keep up with them, occasionally ducking a sign suspended from a bracket above a shop door.

The two gangs led him down a set of stairs into a graveyard, passing a stern faced Priest of Arkay who protested loudly, Harald didn't care as he could see the spirit of the deceased looking on happily, an old matronly woman, her body laid out on the stone slab, surrounded by a few grieving relatives. Then they went up another stair, coming out on a market square, bustling with people.

To the left were the craftspeople, labourers on the anvil or tanners and clothiers, sitting in groups chatting as they worked, then to the right many smaller stalls were set out, traders, trappers, food sellers, and one strange lizard man who the children were leading him toward, one of them having grabbed his horse's bridle and was pulling on it.

As it was a group effort Harald gave each of the children a Septim, instead of the one who had spoken second, and dismounted.

"Best Black Marsh Jewellery!" hawked the Argonian from behind his stall, "Reasonably prices!" Harald moved to inspect the wares, seeing that there were indeed a number of rather exotic pieces alongside the traditional rings and amulets and so forth. Harald pointed at one spiralling strip of silver.

"A horn ornament sir," explained Jen-tai, tapping one of his own horns, just above where his ears should have been. "I get them from my brother down south."

Harald, thoroughly amused at meeting a lizard person in the first case, smiled, _"Isss that who your sssssupplier iss?"_ He asked in a sibilant hiss, and then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth.

The Argonian's eyes went wide; he started to stutter out words, his scaled skin turning a dozen different shades of green.

"I do apologise." Harald continued, "I forget people sometimes have that reaction – Hey! Where are you going?" But Jen-tai had already sprinted away, leaping over a bearded man pumping a bellows, his tail swaying from side to side.

"Well." Said Harald to the marketplace, which was peering at him and the spectacle, "Guard!"

A woman in chainmail and carrying her helmet in one arm walked up, "Yes citizen?"

"Watch this stall will you? The owner had a pressing errand and had to leave, I'm sure he'll return shortly." Harald instructed, mounting his horse again, then talking to himself, "I suppose I'll have to go find that brother." After all, there were many Argonians who worked in the docks of Riften, so that would be the first place Harald would try.

* * *

"_Kren Sos Aal!"_hissed the Draugr Wight as it swung its axe toward Harald.

"That doesn't even make sense." The Wizard replied, and stabbed it in the chest; his sword sliced in through the Wight's chest armour, biting into the undead's ribs. Harald pushed power through the blade and fire ravaged the dry body, immolating it.

The now smoking Draugr fell to the floor, twitching slightly.

Harald had, with some difficulty, located the tomb of Storm-Strider's army; it was around the base of a small mountain range in the Rift. He had ridden south from Windhelm, passing the large caldera steaming with noxious gasses. Luckily the surrounding ranges seemed to contain the stench and Harald had no need for further Bubble-head charms.

There had been some internal debate as to how to actually get to the Rift, given the small range of mountains that separated Eastmarch and the Rift, but he eventually chose the eastern route. This took him walking along the flank of the Velothi Mountains (having sold his horse at a farm outside Windhelm), and further along game trails through wooded foothills. As he travelled he had come across what appeared to be a Dwemer storeroom, it was dank, but not dark, being lit by a half globe in the ceiling shining strange green light down, reflecting in various shiny metal pieces scattered about.

Having phased through a bronze coloured grate, Harald discovered an armoury, the main piece of which was a mighty battleaxe, enchanted with a spell to disintegrate the armour of enemies. Next to the axe was a very unusual piece, a glowing crystal shard, shaped like a wheel, with one spoke leading in from the semi-circle. Harald detected an odd energy seeming to radiate from it, and so put it aside for safekeeping.

Through another door there was a veritable treasure trove of equipment, there were ingots, solid pieces of metal the purpose of which Harald was unsure and struts of various sizes. There was even a rather nice set of kitchenware which Harald collected for later use.

Harald eventually collected all the spare metal for analysis and marked the storeroom on a map for later use in case he needed a safehouse or secondary base in the Rift. Following that, he walked out, and to his surprise saw a castle or sorts to the right, that had been hidden by a line of trees. The most striking feature he noticed was the constantly pumping steam coming from several blown out pipes. Harald had gotten his map back out and drawn a large circle round the 'x' he had previously marked the circle with. He then climbed aboard his flyer and sped off.

The miles passed extremely quickly while Harald flew further south, then he scanned the area surrounding the eastern edge of Lake Honrich, as mentioned in the Journal. Eventually he sighted the characteristic dragonheads of Atmoran architecture, and circled down, passing through light gusts of snow.

Harald blasted down the remains of a wooden door, surprised that it still stood after hundreds of years. He was similarly surprised that the wooden floor above in the tower had not completely collapsed, though some of it had, and was lying at the bottom of the tower. Harald nudged a dead bandit out of his way, then walked across a short bridge, heading up the slope to the top of the mountain.

The first thing Harald noticed entering the courtyard at the top of the mountain was a Word Wall. However, before he attempted to ascend Harald looked about him, there were three trees, two tents, four dead bandits, and a single Draugr standing in the midst of the corpses. Said Draugr's head was separated from its body by a sword stroke, and Harald stepped around the object as it rolled about, blue light fading from the eyes.

Before Harald entered through an almost identical door as the ones at Saarthal, Harald decided to look around the area. If he could spare himself the trouble of having to wander through a whole underground temple by taking the usual back route into the ruin, he would.

Wandering about the ruin, looking over various oddments the only thing Harald located on the courtyard level was a bird's nest with a few cracked eggshells in it. From the rocky outcropping Harald was standing he could just about see a large darkened doorway. A conjured ladder made short work of the gap between the rock and the balcony, and Harald stopped at the Word Wall on the way.

_And lo did mighty  
Heimverlund come from the brutal  
north, like a __storm__ of unbridled  
vengeance from Sovngarde itself._

The lights started streaming out, emanating from the Word 'Storm', the colours whipping around like the tentacles of an octopus, they latched on and Harald absorbed the understanding of the Wall, it was surprisingly phonetic, as '_Strun', _though that could have been to do with the melding that occurred as the Atmorans mixed their language with the Nedic people's who had been on Tamriel for basically, ever.

After learning the new Word Harald walked along the rampart, applying spells to hide him from the inhabitants of the ruin, and pushed the large door, the metal seemingly cold even through his armour.

Opening out past the doors there was a large hall with light streaming in through holes in the roof, ahead was a table with various oddments on it, which Harald inspected briefly before ignoring it and progressing on. A raised dais with sarcophagus dominated the room, and cracked open as Harald approached, the lid flying off a few metres as the Dragon Priest hovered out. At first he (Harald assumed it was male) floated about with staff outstretched in one hand, a crackling mist of energy around it, a hooked dagger in the other.

The Priest seemed confused, his mask either old copper or a different green-hued metal swinging around the room to try and detect what had awoken him from his slumber.

Given that Harald was undetectable to both sight and sound, and he highly doubted the Priest had _smelt_ him, Harald was forced to conclude that they could somehow sense him though some as yet unknown power. It had been the same at Yngol's Barrow, the Draugr first to kneel could not have known he was there, yet, he had been detected all the same.

The Priest floated down some stair and began bellowing in Draconic to his followers, calling the Grave Guard to rise and defend their temple. Harald followed him down, seeing a dozen Draugr stream out from the door at the bottom, two Deathlords stepping out from two coffins standing at either side of the door.

Harald waited till the troops had assembled, and then sent his conjured iron spear at the Priest, aiming for his face, contrary to what he had expected, the spear did not penetrate, but was deflected off the Priest's mask. The result was the same however, as the spear was traveling far too fast to be stopped and snapped the Priest's neck back, so that it hung by a few strands of sinew, the body wobbled a few times, but then fell to the floor.

As one the Draugr drew their weapons, but then fell to their knees as Harald revealed himself, claiming his third mask. The Draugr began chanting but Harald managed to stop them before he started absorbing the energy, having no wish for another headache.

"Shut up." He said, "It's incredibly annoying, goes right through me. Anyway, just…_Vahluk…_Guard."

The Draugr, led by the two Deathlords started off, marching in unison. Meanwhile Harald went to inspect the Priest's corpse. Apart from the mask, there were the priestly vestments, which appeared to be made in the shape of scales, however, more in the style of a harness, with a line down the arms and another down the front and back, than a breastplate. The rest appeared to have disintegrated into a fine dust in a pile on the floor.

"Down to Riften I suppose." Said Harald to himself, walking out.

* * *

Down from the Sea of Ghosts, south along White River, around the Eastmatch Caldera, through Lake Gier, and finally flowing along the Treva, water streamed into Lake Honrich. It was the largest lake in Skyrim, dotted with islands, the larger with the private estates of rich men on them, the smaller with little fisherman's huts or piles of crab pots.

In previous years there had been a large settlement on the eastern edge of the lake. Named after the Hold itself, Riften was, as several Imperial tax collectors had noted, 'a wretched hive of scum and villainy'. Even before the great fire in rebellion of Hosgunn Crossed-Daggers several years ago the city's economy was still mainly made up of thieves and their subsidiary network. There was very little production going on, thieves would steal things from all over Tamriel, then sell them onto the people, who mostly existed on subsidence farming and logging operations. They took from Blacklight's jewels in the east, Leyawiin's works of art, contract jobs in Daggerfall, and even the occasional foray into the Aldmeri Dominion.

The informal council that ran Riften after Crossed-Daggers' overthrow was in actuality not particularly different from the Jarl, they still imposed high taxes, but they did it apparently in the name of the people, so the public were content with it.

As Harald walked through the gate into the town he at first noted the peculiar architecture. The gate for instance, appeared to be the remnants of a large curtain wall, it was of a stocky build, and very blocky, however, there were still soot marks on the bottom of the wall. Then, further inside the buildings suddenly became wooden, made from undressed planks, many showing significant signs of cracking and warping, the houses oddly diagonal, leaning because of inadequate foundations.

Then there came a splashing and an echoing from below, a canal running under the city that fed it with fish and produce from around the lake. Harald peered over a railing, making sure not to put too much weight on it, and saw a shallow boat being pulled along by a swimmer, the tail of the Argonian thrashing the water, propelling it at a considerable rate through the twisting waterways.

It reminded Harald strongly of a wooden Venice, where water traffic was just as important, if not more so, than the land bound variants.

A half-sheathed blade as his badge of office got Harald through another checkpoint, the guards there ill-equipped, a militia with armbands denoting their allegiance to the new order. After the checkpoint the commercial district opened out, large warehouses where the boats offloaded supplying market stalls with a variety of goods from all over Skyrim.

Riften, Harald concluded, was a very commercial city.

Towering above the city were the ruins of an immense palace, of which now only a few tumbling towers were remaining, the rest lying in ruin, mounting up the mountain Riften's back was to. This was surely the fabled 'Hosgunn's Folly', a structure taking seven years to build, the symbol that made the people rise up against the Jarl.

A snickering came from the other side of the market, Harald alerted to it with his newly enhanced hearing. He looked over, applying a Supersensory charm to his ears, then making to inspect some brassware, using the polished dish to see over his shoulder to a group of young Humans their sub-type unknown through the reflection.

Harald ignored them, instead going over toward an Argonian, his scale pattern similar to Jem-tai's in Windhelm, who was selling the same curling horn ornaments. Harald assumed this was the supplier, and made great effort to not speak in Parseltongue while inquiring as to the price of certain jewellery.

"Do you know a Jem-tai in Windhelm?" Harald asked as he walked up to the stall.

"My brother, I'm Modsu." Replied the Argonian, "Did he refer you to me Land-strider? I don't send all my Saxhleel pieces to him, there's rarely the market up north, did you want something special?"

"How many uncut gems do you have?"

"Well," Replied Modsu in a friendly voice, "We have these rather nice pieces here." He indicated his stall-top.

Harald pretended to ignore the obviously misdirection, but was instantly drawn toward the red gems, looking over them. One in particular caught his eye, and he stepped back slightly to see it in a better light and drawing out his slate.

"Siva." He said, and Siva's face filled the slate within seconds.

"Hello Harald." The Dunmer said brightly, and Harald smiled at the enthusiasm.

"Go somewhere bright." He instructed, "I need to compare something."

The slate's picture moved about as Siva got up, there was a brief stone passage and a picture of Siva's feet climbing a stair, but then she came out at the College's balcony, for once, it did not appear to be snowing.

"Now hold it up to your face." Siva did so, and Harald picked up the piece he had been looking at previously, holding it up next to the slate.

"What are you doing?" asked Siva, brow slightly furrowed, "And where are you?"

"I am…" Harald tilted the jewel slightly, looking between it and Siva's eyes, "Making a comparison…in Riften."

"What are you doing there?" asked Siva again.

"Making a comparison." Harald in turn insisted, grinning, "I'll see you later today, don't wait up for me."

The sound of Siva's laughter ended the call, and Harald shook his object of interest in front of the Argonian jeweller.

"How much for this?" he asked.

"Well sir," said the vendor self-effacingly, "As you can see the price is eight hundred Septims." He motioned to a small card with a number scrawled on it.

Harald looked down at the card, then back to the Modsu.

"This number is surely two hundred?" asked Harald with false politeness. "I can read you know."

The Argonian threw up his clawed hands, "A thousand apologies sir! I took you for a barbarian. Three hundred Septims it is."

Harald pointedly only put one hundred down, for the two attempts to trick him. He didn't think he looked particularly barbarous.

"Ah, sir." Said Modsu awkwardly, "that's only one hundred."

Harald sighed, "Then you can recoup your loss by telling me how many gems you have. Uncut ones." He had a particular purpose in mind and the lizard was not co-operating.

"Why should you need them?"

Growing increasingly tired of the flies buzzing around the stall, and the rats scurrying up from under the boards, Harald grabbed the Argonian by the neck, taking the information from his mind instead.

He reeled slightly from the strange mind, he had never tried Legilimency on anything other than a human before, not the deep, invasive kind, whereas the more shallow reading of surface thoughts was much more easy, and Harald had to frequently stop himself from doing it unconsciously.

"The Theives Guild." He said to himself, "Should have known." From what he could see of Modsu's memories, which were all in a kind of strange monochrome, which was presumably how the lizard saw the world, the 'Guild would steal jewels and other valuable ornaments, then Modsu would make them into new pieces, prying out the gems or reshaping them to throw off the authorities, corrupt as they were. Even the blacksmith got a cut, melting down the gold and silver.

As Modsu collapsed and a few guards ran up demanding what was going on Harald showed his blade again, luckily a Thane was virtually exempt from Town Guard jurisdiction, and Harald showed himself out, walking around the gate to a corner where he could mount his flyer, then taking off, manipulating the controls rather more violently than he was accustomed to.

It was the Thieves Guild, the _Guild._

While Harald was not opposed to stealing, occasionally, for instance the old adage of a man stealing bread for his starving children was acceptable, but he disliked the idea of a 'Guild' of thieves. It made the practice a standard affair, commonplace.

To Mages, Fighters, Bakers even, a Guild was a fellowship, a cabal of likeminded people pursuing a similar goal, uniting in order to drive down cost or to coordinate, to share ideas and resources. This was all well and good for these legal professions, where at least generally, they had the interests of the people in question and tended to help society.

But a guild of Thieves? A place where people who made their living parasitically on others, gathering together in one place? That was clearly wrong. If you were good enough to be a professional criminal you were good enough to be an acrobat, or a locksmith, or any number of professions which had similar skill sets.

Even more vexing to Harald was that he had indirectly funded this activity, and persuaded Istlod to as well, there was no telling how much of the gold they had sent found its way into the hands of some kingpin mobster types, Harald could already imagine protection ratchets, after all, he already had evidence from the mind of Modsu of a 'jewellery laundering' scheme going on.

However, as Harald flew over a large forest, he found the solution to his problem of the lack of uncut gems.

* * *

Falkreach Hold was surprisingly similar to the Rift, both being mainly composed of a large lake and forests, but where the Rift had the tall silver birches and wide beech trees, Falkreach had dark, oppressive pine woods. Harald looked out over Lake Klinalth, seeing the shapes of his second group of Draugr today walking down the slope toward the trees, axes clutched in hands.

He had formulated the idea while flying past the Throat of the World, and thought it was actually quite a neat solution to the problem, instead of diamonds; Harald would use a less dense substance, namely, wood.

It would require a great deal more wood. But there was a forest, and it wasn't going anywhere.

"_Dovahkiin_." Came a cracked voice from behind him.

Harald turned; a Scourge Lord was standing behind him, the next highest ranking member of the Draugr forces after Harald had killed their commander and taken over.

"What is it?" he asked.

"_Dovahgolz."_ Said the Scourge Lord, bowing and offering a stone tablet to him with outstretched hands.

Harald took it, laughing at the name, and examined the rock. He saw a carving of a dragon and a complicated map of Skyrim on one side, and several lines of text on the other.

"'Here lie our fallen lords'" He read, "That would mean the dragons I suppose, 'Until the power of Alduin revives'." Harald turned the stone over again, looking at the carving of Skyrim more carefully.

A map of the sites of Dragon burials.

Harald traced around the right hand side of the map, looking for the grave of Viinturuth near Windhelm that Harald had come across. He eventually found it, marked by a star, then looking over the map, ignoring much of the cracks and weathering the stone had gone through over the centuries, he counted over twenty different burial sites. Harald noted four sites close together on the Eastmarch/Rift border and decided that if he was ever bored he might go try and find them.

After putting the stone in his pouch Harald walked back to the ruin.

"_What is this place's name?" _he asked in Draconic to the Scourge Lord, who had fallen into step behind him, he would have to know the name of the barrow after all.

"_Barrow of Bleak Falls_." Replied the Draugr, rounding a corner with him out to the large cavern where Harald had killed the leader of the barrow.

"Bleak Falls Barrow then." Said Harald absently, looking about the cavern. Just then a great '_Fus Ro Dah!'_ was heard from outside, and the sound of crashing. Harald frowned, but when more crashing followed the Shout he guessed the reason. The Draugr were using the Voice to knock down trees, what a novel idea, especially from what were basically zombies.

Harald smiled, and went back to his perusal of the cave.

"Yes, this will do very well." He said to himself, using magic to cut a large passageway in the rock.

"_Proteus."_ He said, and the rock shimmered slightly. "Scourge Lord, post ten Scourges and an equal number of Wights to the door, with an Overlord as well, kill any that try to gain entrance to the barrow. Send the wood through that portal." He said, pointing to the shimmering rock. "When you have collected every piece of wood from within ten miles of that entrance of the barrow, the southern entrance, come through the portal and tell me."

"_Dovahkiin_." The Draugr acknowledged, and stumped off, legs and arms jerking together.

* * *

"_Proteus." _Harald repeated an hour later, pointing his wand at the rock that made up Saarthal. The wall shimmered in a similar way and he could now see, through an odd mirage like illusion, the cave and a large party of Draugr came into view. The Draugr from the other side immediately moved forward, stepping through, carrying large tree trunks on their shoulders.

"Overlords." Harald ordered the party that was standing on his side. "Make sure the harvesting proceeds. When the trees come though have them cut up into smaller pieces and placed in the _Qethsegol Grind_."

"_Dovahkiin."_ The five spoke as one, their voices grating like rusted metal, it was really quite unpleasant. Two of them marched forward, one took up station at the portal and the others began ordering the Bleak Falls Draugr about. Harald then walked over to his new machine. This one was not a synthesiser, but a converter. The idea was that different allotropes of elements could be manipulated to make different things. That was the reason Harald wanted diamonds, because they were made of extremely dense carbon. This arrangement of atoms could be changed into a different arrangement, that of Graphene. Graphene was a flat monolayer of carbon atoms tightly packed into a two-dimensional honeycomb lattice. It was immensely strong, but not very useful on its own, however, with the application of Sticking charms Harald managed to make it into ridiculously strong armour. Not for him, but he thought there might be some future in a kind of thin flexible chainmail or similar.

If he had managed to get his hands on other gems, Harald would have been able to make a series of metals, Aluminium Oxide from rubies for catalysts, Corundum for various chemical processes from sapphires and Vanadium from emeralds for alloying.

He could have synthesised these, but it was very power intensive, and ultimately an inefficient use of the machine's time. So far, in the week or so Harald had been gone from Saarthal, his first machine had created sixteen bars of metal. A rather disappointing amount, but the other three synths the Eye was in the process of making were coming along well, and Harald had initialised each of them, and set them to making gold, silver and titanium respectively, each of these he would sell in small amounts all over Tamriel.

The converter beeped as he approached. "_Welcome Stormcrown," _a similar metallic voice to the first.

"Bring up a graphic display of the molecular formula of Lignin, based on analysis of this substance." Harald ordered, dropping a branch into a chute. There was a low whirring, then a buzz, then a ding, and a diagram popped up.

"_Warning! Warning! High levels of Unknown radiation detected, recommended that Stormcrown vacates the vicinity or acquires protective clothing."_ Said the voice, displaying the message in large blinking red letters.

"Ignore warning, bring up analysis of radiation in Substance 1 and in surrounding area, graphical analysis, screen 2." Said Harald, a map of the locality came up, showing a series of different colours. Harald cast a Magelight, there was a bloom of corresponding colour. "Rename radiation as 'Aetherian Radiation', set default level to the level in quadrant E3." Harald said, touching the screen on the map, "Margin of safety set at 5% of range of quadrants E3 and F2." That should prevent it from yelling at him every time he wanted to light a small fire.

Harald went back to the Lignin analysis, one of the common components of wood, "Designate Substance 1 as 'Falkreach Pine'," he told the machine, "Reform Substance 1 to Substance 2, named 'Graphene 1', molecular structure forthcoming." Then Harald basically drew out the new structure, reordering the carbon into hexagonal patterns, then discarding the hydrogen into a little 'bin' icon and setting the oxygen to be expelled out into the atmosphere. That way the process of deforestation was almost carbon neutral, at least as far as the actual tree went, the tree would of course be unable to do any more photosynthesis.

"Overlord." Harald then said to the Draugr who had been following him, have the wood placed in this chute," he tapped the cavity, "take all produce from the plate here," he tapped the materialisation plate, "to the corner over there and stack them."

* * *

"Quaesor Arulam!" Harald yelled in the man's ear after having snuck up behind him, "I require your assistance!"

Winterhold's Professor of Conjuration leapt out of his chair, scattering papers everywhere. "What do you want?" he screamed in a high voice, but then blinked a few times, rearranged his robes, bushed ink from his cheek, and cleared his throat. "Het hem, What do you want?" he asked more reasonably.

Harald grinned, "I will pay you three thousand Septims to teach me how to summon unbound Dremora." He said.

"For what possible reason could you want to know that?" asked Arulam, frowning, "Oh very well, I suppose I'll find out soon, anyway, you'll probably just pull my soul out like you did poor Arch-Mage Deneth." The Professor began mumbling toward the end of his monologue, shuffling after Harald down the stairs from his quarters and toward the entrance to the Midden Dark Harald had found.

"Where are we going?" asked the Professor, looking around him as they descended icy stone steps.

"The Midden Professor." Replied Harald, "I have a summoning circle set up." He hadn't but thought that the strange construct he had discovered previously would serve.

As Harald pushed open another door he summoned his armour, the scales rippling up his legs and over his chest. Then there was a scoffing sound from behind he, Harald glanced around, seeing Arulam actually rubbing his eyes.

"How did you do that?" the mage exclaimed. "Is it Bound Armour? That spell's been lost for years!"

If Harald assumed correctly that 'Bound Armour' was similar to the Bound sword he had called when he first began learning Conjuration, then the answer was a negative, and he gave the answer. "No, these are the scales of the dragon I killed, which I summon when I need them."

"But how?"

"You need not know." Replied Harald, walking out on the summoning chamber.

"Arulam?" called another mage standing by the pedestal, "What's he got you here for?"

"Pondus?" asked Arulam in return to his colleague, "We're doing a Daedra summoning, what's Alteration got to do with it?"

"I have no idea; I woke up here with a note stuck to my nose, where are we?" asked Pondus Uairiat, Professor of Alteration.

"You're under the College." Harald answered him, he turned to Arulam, "get to work." He ordered, pointing to the carved platform. "Professor!" he then said jovially to the other mage, "It is my understanding that Mage Armour requires certain regents to function does it not? Iron for Ironflesh, Oak wood for Oakflesh correct?"

Uairiat nodded.

"Make me a new spell." Harald told him, tossing over a bundle with three objects, a few scales, a few inches of leather and part of a rib in it "There's three thousand Septims in it for you."

Uairiat almost fumbled the catch, but took the bundle suspiciously, sitting down in a corner.

"Now," continued Harald to Arulam, "What do you have for me?"

"An Atronach Forge." Replied the Conjuration Master, "I've only ever heard about them in stories, to think we had one under us all along…"

"Focus Professor."

Arulam shook himself, "Apologies." He said, "But it really is quite amazing, it allows people with virtually no Aetherian connection to summon Daedra."

"How?" queried Harald.

"Well, you gather the regent for the summoning, for instance…oh well, a Fire Atronach perhaps, and you put the Fire Salts in that forge there with a filled soul gem." Arulam explained, "It's not particularly useful for long-term summons, but I hear the College of Whispers has one that they use to question Daedra about various matters."

_So,_ Harald thought to himself, _A transdimensional mail order service? Something like that?_

"Anyway," Arulam said, "You need a Sigil Stone to work the thing."

"A what?" Harald asked.

"You know, little ball thing," replied Arulam unhelpfully, "magical objects that bridge the Veil. See, there's an indentation for one there." He pointed to three prongs which did indeed, seem to be designed to hold something circular.

"And you acquire one of these stones how?" asked Harald with badly feigned interest.

"Of course you have to get one from a Dremora." Replied Arulam, then he paused, looking sidelong at Harald. "Wait. That's why you want to know isn't it!?"

Harald in fact wanted to be able to summon armies, but pretended that the mage had guessed correctly.

"Well." Explained Arulam, rolling up his sleeves, looking quite silly doing so, "Daedra in general have to be bound, as I showed you before, but Dremora in particular have to be called by name."

"And they have individual names do they? These Daedra?" asked Harald.

"Perhaps, but I meant their rank really, there are only a few records of Dremora revealing their true names, I say recorded, but I actually mean that only the summoner knows. Otherwise anyone can summon your Dremora." Said Arulam, "But going back to the actual summoning, you have to spell out the rank of the Dremora you're going to summon. From Churl to Valkynaz, though admittedly the latter has only ever been summoned three times in recorded history, at least, those were the times the summoned survived to tell of it."

"And you have these names?" asked Harald eagerly, wanting to actually get on with things.

"Of course," scoffed Arulam, "Here, I'll summon an unbound Kynval for you, you should be able to take care of it fairly easily, given you killed a dragon, afterwards it'll be subjugated to your will and you can ask it for the high levels of the spell."

Harald agreed and stepped back, drawing his sword and holding it above his head ready to trike downwards.

Arulam stepped into the circle of candles, then began flailing his arms about, purple light trailing from his fingers. "Koht Yahkem Neht Vehk Ayem Lyr!" he shouted at the wall, the glow around him increasing, then flowing outwards, forming into a swirling vortex from which an immensely tall figure stepped.

Arulam jumped off the platform and ran as far away as he could, and Harald stayed with sword held upwards. The Dremora sniffed the air, lank black hair cascading down a red pointed face. Two ram's horns poked out of its head and the armour looked suitably demonic, with swirling vapour and smoke rising from it, and spikes and chains all over the place.

"Submit." Harald growled, readjusting his grip.

The Kynval looked at him, eyes narrowed, mouth snarling "A challenger!" it suddenly shouted, voice distorted and grating, and running forward, pulling a sword from its back and sweeping it around to meet Harald's strike.

What the Kynval did not expect was for its block to be shorn completely through, Harald's ebony blade cutting first the sword in two, then it's right arm, then biting into its torso and bisecting it.

As the corpse fell to the floor, black blood oozing out, Harald lowered his sword. "Need to remember not to strike too hard." He told himself, "Especially with Eversharp blades."

Arulam poked his head around Harald's shoulder, "It should dissipate soon." He said, and was proved right as the corpse 'poofed' into a puff of smoke. "Quickly, up to the plate, summon it again, while the Kynval's rage is still fresh it will seek another confrontation, and answer the summons." Arulam urged, pushing Harald forward.

Harald stepped up, standing on the other side to where the Kynval had materialised before to catch it off guard, "Koht Yahkem Neht Vehk Ayem Lyr!" he incanted clearly, and the purple light sped from his hand to form a portal.

"You will not banish me so easily this – ugnt!"

The horned head bounced down the steps to the Atronach Forge, the body collapsing first to its knees, then falling flat, demonic red arm at an unusual angle from where the creature had been reaching for its sword as it was beheaded from behind.

"People actually summon these?" asked Harald in bewilderment as he waited for the body to disappear.

Arulam nodded, "Oh yes, the most common type to be summoned actually, available to the common mage and all, it's fairly widespread, however, they are not known for their intelligence, they're the knights, that's what 'Kynval' means. Ah, there we go." He said merrily as the smoke from the corpse disappeared, "Try it again."

Harald this time took up position at his first place, holding his arm out as to put the blade edge under the Kynval's chin as it materialised. The plan went as expected and soon the little pointed devil beard was brushing against Harald's sword.

"Submit, otherwise I start getting…creative." Harald warned.

The Kynval growled, but made no move toward his sword. Then he (or so Harald assumed considering the beard) sighed, an odd sound coming from a seven foot tall demon man, and spoke: "No, no more… I will… serve." Harald removed and sheathed his blade, and the Dremora knelt.

"What is thy bidding my master?"

* * *

"You could just ask me next time."

Harald looked over at the doorway, seeing Siva grinning, leaning against the frame with arms folded.

"You know." She continued, "Instead of leaving cryptic notes on my bed." she waved the piece of paper about.

Harald shrugged, unable to stop the corner of his lips twisting in his own smile. "I couldn't spoil the surprise now could I?" Came the unapologetic reply.

Siva walked forward, discarding the note and coming to stand next to Harald on the balcony, looking out north over the sea, white tops of waves cresting gently over the headland.

"What were you comparing in Riften?" Siva asked softly, mirroring Harald's pose, both hands on the edge, her left next to his right.

Harald turned to her, "Your eyes," he said, looking into them, "and this." Harald pulled out a little strip of cloth with a large oval ruby in the middle. Harald lent over, fastening the choker around her neck, the dark band on gray skin, the ruby the exact shade of Siva's eyes, he had made sure of it.

"Thank you." Siva held up one hand, thumb striking over the stone at her neck a few times.

And then all sounds were of the sea, and the wind. And all the only sight was the smile of red lips.


	27. Enter the Demon

_Guest (reviewing chp.6) : He knows them, just doesn't know what they mean, it's like the various old songs people know, they might not know the actual meaning, it's the oral tradition, where bards and skalds and other people would record history for centuries through song._

_Timetravelviajutsu__: Its cool dude, I don't really get it myself, I just thought the concept would be cool to add in, but yea, its basically just 'cool armour'_

_Skelo: I wont, problem is though, I don't really know *How* to write romance, but ill have a go, PM me if I'm doing something wrong_

_WildCard-Yes Man: Imagine what you'd do if you and your race had a secret language that no-one knew, then some random guy comes and speaks it to you, but more on Parseltongue later._

_T-B-R: Or a Naga (argonian but a puff adder, live in__ the middle of Black Marsh)_

_DarkArmor: A lot of the next couple of chapters will be either tying things up, introducing stuff to happen later, or just filling the space between now and the Great War_

_Shouting: Yea, I thought it was silly that if we can literally launch a 600 pound bear off a cliff, we should be able to knock down little huts, or break down doors or something, no more of that 'this is locked from the other side' with a single thin plank across it. _

_Good point about Fudge, forgot about him._

* * *

"Uncle!" called Aicantar.

Calcemo turned, annoyed to be interrupted while he was working. "What is it?" he asked, perhaps slightly snappishly.

"Tarentis and some Guards are here for you, they're waiting in the outer court." Replied his nephew, hands fiddling with his workbook he perpetually carried.

Calcemo frowned, why would the Guard Captain wish to see him? I could not have been anything recent, as Calcemo himself was only recently arrived from an expedition north to one of the ruins he reference in his third volume of _Dwarves, _his great scholarly work.

"I will see him immediately, tell him to come along." Calcemo ordered, taking his protective gloves off, revealing calloused golden skin from manipulating Dwemer metal and devices for years.

Aicantar scurried off, lifting the front of his robes as he ran down the stairs towards Understone Keep and the informal 'lobby'.

Calcemo meanwhile removed and hung up his work coat, a garment designed by Calcemo himself to work in a laboratory, which had somehow eventually been named a 'lab coat', probably as it was worn in his laboratory actually, and the name stuck. The Altmer then donned his non-work robe, which he only wore for visitors, as it was hard to move quickly with it and sometimes Dwemer contraptions exploded, or traps activated, necessitating that he jump away and evacuate the area with all haste. Why, just last week the excavation at Nchuand-Zel had uncovered a set of whirling blades, driven entirely by steam.

The ingenuity of the Dwemer really was fascinating, even if said ingenuity forced him to hire more assistants and labourers as the last ones were decapitated.

Calcemo went down through the Dwemer Museum, into Markarth. Located deep in the mountains in the west of Skyrim it was definitely worthy of its name as the 'City of Stone'. The waterfall thundered overhead, happily not wetting Calcemo's head as walked from his tower to the Jarl's Palace.

However, no matter what the Jarl of Markarth thought, the Understone Keep was positively provincial by Dwemer standards, even in comparison to some of their smaller seats, the 'Keep was cramped and crowded, and it had atrocious ventilation. Calcemo meanwhile recollected cities he had visited like Volenfell, even submerged by sands as it was, they were much grander.

Amusingly the other day his nephew had been telling be about a rubbing in coal he had taken from the audience chamber, apparently it detailed the exploits of 'Earth-Adept-Controller Harogak Grantaz', a lowly administrator for the area that was now the Reach. Calcemo had had a good laugh at that.

After nodding and saying a few words to the guards that had been posted in the Museum to dissuade thieves, Calcemo came out, or rather, into the Keep. As the name suggested, the Understone Keep was indeed 'under stone', a whole mountain range in fact, easily the most defensive town in Skyrim, or so Calcemo thought, he did not particularly understand military matters, leaving them more up to the Nords, warlike people as they were.

"Ah, Calcemo!" called Guard Captain Tarentis, stepping forward out of his knot of subordinates.

"Captain." Calcemo greeted back, seeing his nephew materialise from somewhere and follow him forward.

"Rather a strange matter here." Said the Imperial, his grey whiskers swaying from side to side as he shook his head, "But you're needed for it."

Calcemo's eyebrows went up, almost certainly something Dwemer then, he was the foremost expert in virtually all of Tamriel after all.

"Anyway, you'll see," continued Tarentis, "Here we are." The Captain motioned and two doors were opened, the elaborate bas-relief carvings standing out in flickering torchlight.

The room itself was unremarkable, with at least twenty guards standing inside with weapons drawn, that aroused Calcemo's suspicious somewhat, however, what really did surprise him were the party of Dwemer Animunculi standing in front of a large hole in the wall.

"They came through a few hours ago." Said Tarentis, leaning in, "Thought you might want to take a look."

Calcemo turned his head toward the guard, warily keeping an eye on the Spheres in particularly, and particularly their crossbows. "Am I right in thinking that hole wasn't there before?" he asked, looking at the strange tunnel that seemed to extend far into the rock beyond the formation of Spheres.

Tarentis nodded, "Anyway, watch yourself Calcemo, if anything happens-"

The Guard Captain grew quiet, because at 'Calcemo' the Spheres suddenly moved, the front rank parted, revealing a heavier looking Sphere Centurion.

This seemingly unique Automaton, for Calcemo had not seen it's like before, was alike in most aspects to its cousins, however, its body was larger, and without arms. The rest as Spheres were thin, angular, vaguely humanoid in shape, with the gear driven arms, one with a sword and the other a crossbow, while the legs melded into the round body the Sphere was known for, and the head the high sort of helm, intricately carved as most Dwemer contraptions were.

The Altmer scholar was at a loss to know how the contraptions had gained entry to the city, they were not from Nchuand-Zel, he knew that from the marks on their arms, a series of Dwemeris characters that Calcemo speculated formed the 'serial number' and noted the place of construction of the machine in question. If the party was from elsewhere Calcemo was forced to conclude that the tunnel behind them was an as yet undiscovered underground road, similar to the one he had heard about leading from Cyrodiil to Morrowind.

Calcemo approached, careful to make no hostile moves, usually the contraptions didn't attack unless you touched something in the domain, and Calcemo took great care to stay at least a handspan away from them at a time. He walked up to the middle, heavier Sphere, seeing a line of melted metal that seemed to have been welded to the Sphere's body.

As he approached the welded slot fell open, exposing a rolled scroll, tied in its circular position with a red ribbon. Calcemo gingerly reached out and took the scroll, breaking an odd wax seal depicting a triangle a circle and a line in formation, each shape inside that which preceded it.

_Calcemo  
Understone Keep  
Markarth_

_Sir, _

_If you will consent to joining me at Saarthal there is a large and well-equipped laboratory set up for you to investigate and categorise the various mineralogical, botanical, zoological and technological resources of the Dwemer city Alftand._

_Very cordially yours, _

_Harald Stormcrown_

_P.S. – Inquire at the Dragon's Head Inn in the town of Winterhold and one of my agents will escort you to my city._

Calcemo lowered the scroll. This 'Stormcrown' was evidently a very powerful man, if he managed to command a squad of Animunculi from half-way across Skyrim.

"Uncle! What does it say?" called Aicantar from across the room, the guards and his nephew having retreated slightly as he read, understanding that the Dwemer machines would not do any mischief.

"Aicantar." Calcemo answered, rolling the scroll up again and storing it in his sleeve.

"Yes uncle?"

"Get my things ready, get yours ready. We're departing in two hours." Calcemo ordered, striding back to his study to arrange his papers, brimming with excitement.

"As you wish uncle." Aicantar replied serenely.

"We haven't a moment to lose." Continued Calcemo, "Pack as much into my trunk as you can, my robes, coats, clothes of all sorts, as many as you can without counting."

"And your collection uncle?" asked Aicantar, furiously noting down in his pocketbook with a quill.

"We'll think of them by the by."

"Are you sure uncle? There is rather a great deal to categorise," Aicantar ventured to observe, "The _Scyphum, Furca, Machinam_, and the other artefacts?"

"The Jarl will keep them for us."

"And your live Chaurus?"

"They will feed it in our absence."

"Then we are not returning to the expedition?" asked Aicantar surprised.

"Oh…" hesitated Calcemo, after all, their journey might be prolonged if there was a whole city to explore. "Yes, certainly, but by making a curve."

"And will this curve please you?" asked Aicantar, opening the door for him as they entered the tower. Unlike some of Calcemo's past assistants his nephew, recently of their family home in Lillandril, rarely gave his opinion on anything, happy to bob along in Calcemo's wake as they explored the various ruins around Tamriel.

"Most certainly nephew." answered Calcemo enthusiastically, scooping up papers in a large leather satchel, as well as a field journal and several thick glass bottles full on ink. "It should be most illuminating for my studies."

"As it pleases you Uncle."

* * *

"Ten thousand and no higher." Said the figure, making a cutting gesture through the air.

Jarulth, Stable-Master of Whiterun, frowned, ten thousand was indeed quite reasonable for his prize stallion, perhaps he could get the buyer to consider renting the horse back to him occasionally for stud.

Jarulth held out his hand, shaking the stranger's firmly, "Ten thousand it is." He replied to the Breton. Then he called for the stable hands to bring out Brega, and went inside himself for the papers of ownership.

The Breton princeling followed him in, rich clothes swishing as the man took elegant steps across the threshold.

Now, Jarulth didn't normally hold with selling Whiterun horses to non Nords, even less he liked selling them to half-elf bastards like the Breton, but money was money, and the wife was wanting a larger house since the birth of their sixth child, a fine healthy boy, but by the Gods did he have a loud voice!

Riffling around in the desk for Brega's identity papers (Jarulth was proud of his status as a lettered man), the Stable-Master watched as the customer looked around his small office adjoining the stables.

"Here we are." Jarulth muttered to himself bringing out the papers. Each of his horses, as well as any remotely associated with the Stablemen's Guild had identity papers to assure proper commerce, otherwise some thief could steal one and sell it somewhere and no-one would be the wiser. It also started up the practice of 'horse renting', which Jarulth's first son had invented, this would entail a horse possibly traveling about from one Hold to another, and always finding its way back to its home because of the cooperation of the individual Stable-Masters.

"Let's see." Said Jarulth, leaning over the front leaf of parchment, "Name: Brega, Sire, yes, yes, all in order."

"What is his breed?" asked the Breton?

"Fresian," replied Jarulth, carefully analysing the document and not really paying attention, "Sixteen hands tall, black coat, strong, but agile as well, elegant action, thick mane and tail, light feathering on the feet, yes, all in place correctly, you can see here." He handed the paper over, which the Breton took with a black gloved hand.

The Princeling read the paper, then scrolled through the payment history of the five or so years the horse had been alive.

"Seems all in order, I'd like the name changed though."

Jarulth nodded, sometimes buyers did, "What to?" he asked, picking out a form for the change of name which would be stored with the horse's papers.

"Sleipnir." Replied the Breton.

Jarulth noted down the name, confirming the spelling first. "Name?" he asked afterwards.

"Sleipnir." Repeated the Breton, looking slightly confused.

"No, not yours, his!"

"Oh…James Moriarty." Replied the Breton airily as if Jarulth would have heard of him before.

"And make your mark." Jarulth finally said, rotating the document for Moriarty to sign. However, instead the man just pressed a closed fist into the bottom of it. When he brought it away there was a black mark inscribed into the paper, like it had been burnt. Jarulth saw a dark stone on the man's hand, several marks cut into it like shapes.

"There you go." Said Moriarty, dumping a large bag of coins on the floor, the sack falling over and clinking loudly with the riches inside.

"Well." Said Jarulth. "Fair deal, fair deal. 'Sleipnir' is yours."

"Pleasure doing business with you." Said Moriarty happily, striding out humming a merry tune to himself to go get his new horse.

* * *

"Why does Harald want all these anyway?" asked Kodlak, hauling on a rope connected to the net they were trying to get on the cart.

"Well…" Replied Yvette, also straining on the net, "He said he wanted to try out some alchemy with them."

"More pulling less talking!" growled Jergen.

Kodlak grunted, "What does alchemy have to do with bears?" he asked, trying to get a length of timber under the netted bear to lever it up.

"Knew a guy once." Rollo put in, finally joining their conversation after standing at the side for a while. "Hunter, with a bit of pioneering on the side. He used them for just general potions; they enhance health and restore stamina he said."

Jergen shrugged, "Who knew?"

"Hey, guys," came Yvette's voice from the side of the bear, "I think its waking up."

Kodlak frowned, "Did Harald specify 'alive'?"

"Yes." Came the resigned reply from the rest of the Circle.

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes!"

"Fine." Said Kodlak. "Reckon I should hit it again?"

Yvette shrugged, Jergen nodded, and Kodlak pulled the branch out and hit the bear on the head a few more times.

"That should do."

"Are Companions actually allowed to contract other Companions?"

"Reckon so. Why wouldn't they?"

"More hauling less talking!"

* * *

The inhospitable nightmare that was the Deadlands roiled and burned, great gouts of lava being thrown into the air, instantly destroying the lesser scum that covered the ground, fleeing toward the great Sigil Towers dotting the landscape.

Atronachs of every type swooped on the hot air currents, the Storms crackling and turning the ash clouds into great fizzing monsters, the Frosts were melted instantly, as soon as they materialised, the Fires even were scared, for they burned so weakly in comparison to the landscape.

For the more specific Daedra, Clannfears scrabbled at the bases, Scamps screamed shrilly as they were trampled by Daedroths running in terror away from the embodiment of wrath that was Mehrunes Dagon.

The Prince himself _was_ the Deadlands, the hills were his bones, the volcano's his great fanged mouth, the crags his teeth, the boiling rock his hellish blood.

Xarxas Rhal, Valkynaz of the Valkyn, Prince in the Retinue of Dagon, Veteran of both the Battlespire and the Oblivion Crisis looked over it all, and he frowned.

"What troubles you My Lord?" asked the Kynmarcher standing a few feet behind him. The Dremora was a new addition to his court, and had once served in the retinue of Lobaq Falz, before the Duke was destroyed by the current menace.

"It is not I who am troubled." Replied Rhal eventually in his guttural, resonant voice. "It is the Plains of Ganonah."

The great door's to Rahl's inner sanctum opened, and in came his herald and another who's scent he recognised over the stench of sulphur and the searing heat.

"The Lord Jublios, Warden of the Crescent, Master Warlock." Announced the Herald.

Jublious came up to stand on the balcony at Rahl's side. Despite the Dremora's status as a Markynaz, or Grand Duke in the Prince's court, he was the Master Warlock, and so of a rank and level with Dagon's personal guard of Dremora Princes, the Valkyn. Jublious himself was a thin Dremora, very skilled in the magical arts, particularly in Destruction and Conjuration, but without great knowledge in subtle matters like Illusion.

"What think you?" the newcomer asked gruffly, red robes shimmering.

"I think that we must rectify the faults of the lowers." Replied Rahl back to him, speaking of the current crisis.

Jublious growled his agreement. "Scum!" he bellowed down at the hordes of lesser Daedra clamouring below and loosed a fireball with a shout, "Scum! Scum!" he hurled a skull he had been carrying at a Spider Daedra that had been climbing the tower.

Rahl raised an eyebrow at the last projectile.

"One of the Churls dared look me in the eye as he laid out my midday meal." Said Jublious in answer.

Rahl laughed, loud deep and rolling.

"Who will go then? I had a mind to myself, teach this upstart a lesson!" asked the Warlock after shouting more obscenities at the Daedra, then lobbing a few more fireballs for good measure.

Rahl frowned again, looking over at the smoking stacks of the recently destroyed towers to which Julious was referring. "No, I will go, you must reform the Council, and attempt to commune with our Lord." He said, turning to the Warlock.

A deep rumble came from Jublious' chest, "And why? Why you? Are you not one of the only members of the Council left?" he asked.

"Precisely the reason." Said Rahl, smoothly slicing the legs of another Spider Daedra as it tried to climb past them, feminine face contorted in fear, "These attacks are the work of a single man, and his very presence is an affront to the Council."

"You have seen him yourself have you not?" asked Jublious, putting his hands in his sleeves, a travesty of a holy monk if ever there was one.

Rahl nodded, "I know enough of the Lost Arts to read the signs, they are clear; if this… _heresy_ creates the same discord as the fallout from the 'Crisis, there could be civil war among the Princes!"

"The Shadow Clan feel the same." Agreed Jublious, "As do the other Princes I have spoken with."

Rahl was vaguely surprised, "And what do the others say?" Even Dremora of their respective ranks sometimes were wary before contacting a Prince.

"I was not able to contact the Huntsman, nor Vile, nor the Webspinner." Said Jublious, "Meridia, the Mother of Roses, Mora, Malacath and Boethiah are actually supporting the heresy, and the others are undecided."

"Then you have missed our greatest ally." Laughed Rahl cruelly, happy to have exceeded the Warlock's plethora of magic for once.

Jublious growled.

"You came by Levitation correct?" asked Rahl, leading the Warlock away from the balcony and toward the central shaft in his tower, what would have been the bottom of the Sigillum Sanguis if he were planning to open an Oblivion Gate.

"I did not wish to dirty my clothes with the muck of the scum." Replied Jublious angrily, brushing invisible lint from his sleeves.

"Then you did not see my latest pet." Said Rahl, "Look down."

Jublious did so, looking past the pillar of fire that would have instantly killed him should he have touched it. He gasped, pointed teeth bared in wonder. Seeing the chained monstrosity Xarxas Rahl had procured and imprisoned in his basement.

"A Titan!" the Warlock exclaimed.

"A favour I called in from the King of Rape himself." Replied Rahl, as if it were a minor matter, "I thought to send it through next time the portal opens."

"That would be a might foe indeed." Said Jublious, still staring at the monster.

Rahl smiled. He had personally conducted the rite to contact Molag Bal. It seemed the Lord of Coldhabour stood with Lord Dagon, knowing that he would probably be next if the mortal interloper ever tried to gain access to Bal's plain.

Therefore Bal had sent though the portal one of his Daedric Titans, the pride of his Daedra. Where the Dremora were mainly Dagon's, the Titans were Bal's, shaped in his likeness, bipedal, with a great thick tail, somewhat reminiscent of a Dragon's, great bat-like wings and a horned and frilled head holding a multitude of teeth. But their teeth were not their only weapons, they had horns to gouge with, wings to batter their foes, and claws to rend them apart.

Rahl's Titan was named, from what he could tell of its barbarous speech, 'Gragaskar', and was a prize pick, with half its face shorn away and hundreds of battle scars it would be a formidable enemy to the summoner who had so recently upset the balance of Oblivion.

It had started some months ago, time was ever meaningless to the Dremora, but Rahl had found it useful to keep a record of it, to know what the years were measure in on the mortal plane, and so far he had charted the developments, tracing the issue back to its origin.

First a single Kynval, all together unimportant in the scope of things, one soldier in the armies of Dagon, had been summoned somewhere in the north of Tamriel. The Dremora in question had been banished twice before he would submit, commendable in their weak caste, and all had appeared normal.

But mere days later more summoning's had come, more calls from across Oblivion, more Kynvals, each defeated swiftly, held under some kind of Illusion spell that replicated the feeling of pain in a Dremora's body, some of the Dremora had even been driven mad, returning to the Deadlands shaking and spasming, screaming '_Crucio! Cruic_o_!_" till they were put out of their misery.

After this became fairly common, and more than two hundred had been summoned in a single 'day', the Kynreeves took notice. They were the upper officers in Dagon's army, and one, the Summon-Master of the Dreadfort of Duke Ulaz M'crek, took offence that his charges had to be destroyed by Dremora hands instead of killed on Nirn. The Kynreeve took the place of the next Dremora to be summoned and he had not been heard of since.

Days later, several of the Kynmarchers had been summoned, each with their True Name, and each to the same location in northern Tamriel, each within a few hours of the others, and each never to return. Though it was not particularly noteworthy that a few Kynmarchers had been summoned, the use of their True Names was.

At this time the matter had been brought to Rahl's attention, five of the missing Kynmarchers and one of their overseers, a Markynaz by the name of Kilrilos were part of his retinue, and he had personally fought with Kilrilos during the Battlespire. Rahl brought the issue before the Council and demanded to know what was going on. However, no one had any idea. It seemed particular Dremora, at least one from each Tower, had been kidnapped, summoned, but after their term of service was finished, they did not return. Furthermore, while Rahl was at Council, listening to some ridiculously attired Markynaz address the assembly, Jublious had burst in, ranting about Sigil Stones.

At first Rahl had not paid much attention to the speech, since the Oblivion Crisis he always kept his own Sigil Stone on him at all times, but as Jublious continued he began to have the nearest feeling a Dremora could to unease. It was something he had not felt since the Third Era, when he had led the horde that destroyed the Altmer's Crystal Tower. They burned through the Isles, Rahl and his followers, slaughtering the Elvish mages, impaling them on pikes and filling them so full of barbed arrows that one woman they had hanged appeared as a hedgehog might.

The reason for Rahl's unease, was Jublious' revelation that from each of the kidnapped Kynmarcher's towers, the Sigil Stone had recently gone missing. Rahl once again thanked his Lord that he still had his upon him, hidden where no one could find it, fused by magic into his chest where his heart would have been should he have been mortal.

The problem was, there were at least thirty Stones missing, from all around the Deadlands. Rahl remembered what the Hero of Kvatch; (A thousand curses upon her name!) had done, smashing the stones, causing huge explosions in the towers that were affected.

The destruction of so many of his servants had enraged Lord Dagon, so much so that he took to the field himself, his Avatar battling in the Imperial City. However, the defeat at the hands of Akatosh and Martin Septim had dealt him a strong blow, and the Deadlands had heaved and boiled for three centuries before the main players in the invasion had reformed themselves from their banishment. Meanwhile, Lord Dagon himself had retreated into his Plane, immersing himself even more deeply, no longer speaking with his Guard or his subordinates.

Just as Rahl came to the conclusion that whoever was doing the summoning was going to attempt the same thing, the Council Chambers were rocked with explosions, half the Citadel of Hate collapsed, killing thousands of lesser Daedra and Dremora alike. When Rahl had gathered his companions and ventured out of the rubble they had found a dozen pillars of smoke streaming into the red sky, each a location where a Sigil Stone had destabilised, the subsequent energy having no place to go but being expelled out with great force.

Rahl had gathered the survivors, actually more than he had been expecting, and reconvened on the Rock of Lamentation, which was shaped like a human face, constantly weeping tears of blood. A scouting mission was sent, a dozen Kynemarchers, each competent warriors and mages, only two returned, bringing with them tales of a sorcerer of great skill and power, who commanded a vast legion of undead, their eyes filled with a blue fire.

Next the Council had decided to send a kill-team of Markynaz, a mixed band, with equal amounts of both physical and magical might. This party were more successful, reporting that they had cut through swathes of the undead and one Markynaz even crossing blades with the sorcerer himself, and only half the party was destroyed this time and they brought back a name.

"_Stormcrown_"

While the Council decided definitively that something must indeed be done, before their own citadels came under threat from Stormcrown, they had also to look for attack by the other Princes. There was a perpetual state of war existing between the different Realms, waxing and waning through the ages.

Currently Sheogorath had been making vague motions of attack, building bridges across from the Shivering Isles and sending his Dark Seducers and Golden Saints through. Hircine had been sighted on the out-boundaries, riding with a guard of werebears, and it was said that Meridia's Aurorans were mobilising.

When the other Prince's perceived Lord Dagon's weakness they attacked, sending their forces at the disposable hordes of Daedra, no particular objective in mind, just continuing the struggle for power all Princes partook in.

However, with the recent bombings, as well as the general instability in the region, the Deadlands were under serious threat to the invasions, moreso that usual. This was particularly shown by Hircine riding right up to Duke Balaz's fortress and hunting his servants through the grounds, laughing merrily as the Duke shook his fist at the Prince. Luckily Meridia was repulsed, her attempted inroads headed off by Rahl himself.

After Rahl returned from his week long battle against the Aurorans he had discovered that precisely nothing had been done about Stormcrown, and there was a veritable sea of lesser Daedra surrounding his tower. Once again Rahl took charge, employing his significant political and military clout to order the rest of the Council to retreat to their towers and guard their Sigil Stones personally. That allowed Sheogorath and Meridia to begin a conflict of their own, which, because of the fluid nature of Oblivion, spilled over into both the Pits of Peryite and Nocturnal's Evergloam.

That brought them to the current state of affairs, where Rahl was preparing to go himself into Mundus in the next summoning, which was occurring now roughly weekly, he was planning to bring several hundred Dremora with him, from Churls to his personal guard of Markynaz, as well as Molag Bal's Titan. However, he needed one more item to ensure his victory.

"Jublious, Warden of the Crescent." Rahl said to the other Dremora standing, still admiring the Daedric Titan.

"Yes?" asked Jublious, turning to him in turn, shaking his awe away.

"For my victory to be absolute, I require the Crescent."

Jublious looked slightly sick at the thought of giving away his charge, but nodded slowly. "Yes, Lord Dagon would think it only proper."

Rahl nodded solemnly, and received, with equal solemnity, the Daedric Crescent, a great curved blade, with two halves separated by a handle, the gleaming metal inscribed with ancient runes to disintegrate whatever it touched, as well as paralysing the enemy with each strike.

"You last held the blade during the Battlespire did you not?" asked Jublious, more happy to give the Crescent to someone who had already wielded it.

"Yes." Whispered Rahl, pleased to have his favourite weapon in Oblivion again, "Until Imago Storm and his apprentice banished me."

"Well you have it now, go forth and destroy the Stormcrown." Said Jubilous, pointing him to the door. "And when the mortal is dead, you will return it to my keeping."

Rahl turned away, but went no further, instead fingering the blade, smiling darkly. "Oh yes," he said, "Certainly you would like that, O 'Warden of the Crescent'."

"What are you saying?" asked Jublious, and Rahl heard the crackling of a fire spell.

"Only that I was the one who worked out who the Stormcrown was, and that I was the one who repelled Meridia, and that I was the one who reformed the Council from the ashes." Said Rahl, moving slowly into position, "And I will be the one rewarded by Lord Dagon when he returns in a few centuries."

"This is treason!" shouted Jubilous, and the crackling from the fire increased in volume.

Rahl swept round, sweeping the Daedric Cresent, the last in existence diagonally, splitting Jubilous from shoulder to hip.

"That is not how history will remember it." He replied to the rapidly disintegrating pile of finely dressed meat, and walked away, still holding the Crescent.

"Bring me my armour!" he shouted, hellish voice echoing about the tower, "Prepare the summoning circle! Release the Titan! I will go to Nirn, and I kill the Stormcrown!"


End file.
